An Idler's Idyl

A BORROWED boat, a certain sky,
A tide whereon to dream and drift,
Delay that never seems delay,
Are more to me than gain or gift.

A boat is broader than a hearth,
To borrow better than to own,
For Care is in a manner blind,
And follows Thrift by touch alone.

The miller’s heart is in his toll,
The sower’s thoughts plod to and fro,
And who hath anything at sea
Forebodeth winds that never blow.

Then, Life, for thee the idle oar,
A drowsy tide to drift upon,
An air that hints of hills new-mown,
To lull thee when thy dreams come on.