IDLENESS
.
ODE
VII
.
GOddess
of
ease
,
leave
Lethe's
brink
,
Obsequious
to
the
Muse
and
me
;
For
once
endure
the
pain
to
think
,
Oh
!
sweet
insensibility
!
Sister
of
peace
and
indolence
,
Bring
,
Muse
,
bring
numbers
soft
and
slow
,
Elaborately
void
of
sense
,
And
sweetly
thoughtless
let
them
flow
.
Near
some
cowslip-painted
mead
,
There
let
me
doze
out
the
dull
hours
,
And
under
me
let
Flora
spread
,
A
sofa
of
her
softest
flow'rs
.
Where
,
Philomel
,
your
notes
you
breathe
Forth
from
behind
the
neighbouring
pine
,
And
murmurs
of
the
stream
beneath
Still
flow
in
unison
with
thine
.
For
thee
,
O
Idleness
,
the
woes
Of
life
we
patiently
endure
,
Thou
art
the
source
whence
labour
flows
,
We
shun
thee
but
to
make
thee
sure
.
For
who'd
sustain
war's
toil
and
waste
,
Or
who
th'
hoarse
thund'ring
of
the
sea
,
But
to
be
idle
at
the
last
,
And
find
a
pleasing
end
in
thee
.