I busied myself to find a sure

      Snug hermitage

That should preserve my Love secure

      From the world’s rage;

Where no unseemly saturnals,

   Or strident traffic-roars,

Or hum of intervolved cabals

   Should echo at her doors.

I laboured that the diurnal spin

      Of vanities

Should not contrive to suck her in

      By dark degrees,

And cunningly operate to blur

   Sweet teachings I had begun;

And then I went full-heart to her

   To expound the glad deeds done.

She looked at me, and said thereto

      With a pitying smile,

“And this is what has busied you

      So long a while?

O poor exhausted one, I see

   You have worn you old and thin

For naught!  Those moils you fear for me

   I find most pleasure in!”