IX.Oh to be idle loving idleness!But I am idle all in hate of me;Ever in action’s dream, in the false stressOf purposed action never set to be.Like a fierce beast self-penned in a bait-lair,My will to act binds with excess my action,Not-acting coils the thought with raged despair,And acting rage doth paint despair distraction.Like someone sinking in a treacherous sand,Each gesture to deliver sinks the more;The struggle avails not, and to raise no hand,Though but more slowly useless, we’ve no power.Hence live I the dead life each day doth bring,Repurposed for next day’s repurposing.
Oh to be idle loving idleness!But I am idle all in hate of me;Ever in action’s dream, in the false stressOf purposed action never set to be.Like a fierce beast self-penned in a bait-lair,My will to act binds with excess my action,Not-acting coils the thought with raged despair,And acting rage doth paint despair distraction.Like someone sinking in a treacherous sand,Each gesture to deliver sinks the more;The struggle avails not, and to raise no hand,Though but more slowly useless, we’ve no power.Hence live I the dead life each day doth bring,Repurposed for next day’s repurposing.