I was living at ease with time on my hands.
Now before the blow lands, would I spend half the time on my knees?
And what would I do with the other half?
Laugh? Laugh or cry? Cry to whom?
is quite warm and secure
Though a breeze makes the blind-string shake.
The flowers of tulip and flag are still
Though a broad tulip leaf that has sagged and folded
Wags when the grass on the windowsill
Surrenders its rags to the winds tugging.
Ill on Ash
Wednesday Ive lazed abed
In mid-February snows lenten melt.
But bray the mortal artist in his bedsheets,
Still youll not part conceit from him.