I BUSIED myself to find a sure

Snug hermitage That should preserve my Love secure From the world’s rage; Where no unseemly saturnals, Or strident traffic-roars, Or hum of intervolved cabals Should echo at her doors.

I laboured that the diurnal spin Of vanities Should not contrive to suck her in By dark degrees, And cunningly operate to blur Sweet teachings I had begun; And then I went full-heart to her To expound the glad deeds done.

She looked at me, and said thereto With a pitying smile, “And this is what has busied you So long a while? O poor exhausted one, I see You have worn you old and thin For naught! Those moils you fear for me I find most pleasure in!”