Classic Poem

Oh , would that working I might shun,
From labor my connection sever,
That I might do a bit — or none
Whatever!

That I might wander over hills,
Establish friendship with a daisy,
O'er pretty things like daffodils
— Go crazy!

That I might at the heavens gaze,
Concern myself with nothing weighty,
Loaf, at a stretch, for seven days —
Or eighty.

Why can't I cease a slave to be,
And taste existence beatific
On some fair island, hid in the Pacific?

Instead of sitting at a desk
'Mid undone labors grimly lurking —
Oh, say, what is there picturesque
In working?

But no! — to loaf were misery! —
I love to work! Hang isles of coral!
(To end this otherwise would be Immoral!)