Once upon an idle afternoon
When trees 'n' men were glad to doze 'n' swoon -
Save a squirrel that with furious zeal
Ceased not from a sharp staccato, that
But piled more dreaminess, you could feel -
I laid by the window 'cross a warm sun-shaft
Hoping to practise some of poetry's craft
By looking for missives in the blue of the sky
And breaking the ciphers of the clouds scudding by.
But the dozeful hour on every sense some magic wrought;
It blew and ruffled my pages with an air
As though a poesy is not what it sought.
Then a kite's soft treble sounded from her lair,
Whence a cat on the wall fixed me with a stare
And seemed to whisper: I am not, You are not!
