See, while the maids warm in their busy play,

We may enjoy in quiet the sweet air,

And thro’ the quivering golden green look up

To the deep sky, and have high thoughts as idle

And bright, as are the small white clouds becalmed

In disappointed voyage to the noon:

There is no better pastime.

Deid.I will sit with thee

In idleness, while idleness can please.

Ach. It is not idleness to steep the soul