Page:Poems, in two volumes (IA poemsintwovolume00word).pdf/131

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

119

I am not One who much or oft delightTo season my fireside with personal talk,About Friends, who live within an easy walk,Or Neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:And, for my chance-acquaintance, Ladies bright,Sons, Mothers, Maidens withering on the stalk,These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalkPainted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.Better than such discourse doth silence long,Long, barren silence, square with my desire;To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,By my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire,And listen to the flapping of the flame,Or kettle, whispering it's faint undersong.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.