"Had I a little son, I would christen him 'Nothing-to-do.'" CHARLES LAMB. I would I had something to do—or to think! Or something to read, or to write! I am rapidly verging on lunacy's brink, Or I shall be dead before night. In my ears has been ringing and droning all day, Without ever a stop or a change, That poem of Tennyson's—heart-cheering lay!— Of the moated monotonous Grange! The stripes in the carpet and paper alike I have counted, and counted all through, And now I've a fervid ambition to strike Out some path of wild pleasure that's new. They say, if a number you count, and recount, That the time imperceptibly goes,— ! I wish—how I wish!—I'd ne'er learnt the amount Of my aggregate fingers and toes. "Enjoyment is fleeting," the proverbs all say, 'Even that which it feeds upon fails." I've arrived at the truth of the saying to-day, By devouring the whole of my nails. I have numbered the minutes so heavy and slow, Till of that dissipation I tire, And as for exciting amusements,—you know One can't @3always@1 be stirring the fire. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WIDOW MCFARLANE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 18 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE THORN by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH MY SHIP by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN GEORGE LEVISON OR, THE SCHOOLFELLOWS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM TO S-----D (2) by WILLIAM BLAKE UNDER THE PINES by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT |