And leaves my bunk to laziness and me:
I read, until a lethargy ensues,
Tales of detectives frowning over clues
And last month’s papers; then the strain’s too strong,
Man wants but little, nor that little long,
The deck-chair in the shadow now appeals,
Until the next hash-hammer rings to meals.
But not alone in climate may I claim
Advantage; while you feel the slings of fame,
Beset at all hours by the shapes of those