Jean Ingelow,
Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes…
“ If leisure is—but, ah! 'tis not— 'Tis long past praying for, God wot; The fashion of it men forgot, About the age of chivalry."Sweet is the leisure of the bird; She craves no time for work deferred; Her wings are not to aching stirred Providing for her helpless ones. Fair is the leisure of the wheat; All night the damps about it fleet; All day it basketh in the heat, And grows, and whispers orisons."Grand is the leisure of the earth; She gives her happy myriads birth, And after harvest fears not dearth, But goes to sleep in snow-wreaths dim. ”
