THERE is no dearer lover of lost hours Than I. I can be idler than the idlest flowers; More idly lie Than noonday lilies languidly afloat, And water pillowed in a windless moat. And I can be Stiller than some gray stone That hath no motion known. It seems to me That my still idleness doth make my own All magic gifts of joy's simplicity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONDON, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BRIDE by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE ODES II, 10 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS ON FILE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS AN INVOCATION by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: METEMPSYCHOSIS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |