Idleness

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.