Why should life all work and labor be? We are not the root and crown of nature.
Leave us alone. Let us drowse. Let us slouch, and, loll, and bend the way we want. All tension gone. Half awake. Half senseless, numb.
Bring us that magic flower, that floats on portentous water—that magic flower, aglow, effulgent— blessed by Apollo’s Light.
You say you travel on the sea. Poor fellows. You have my sympathy. Rest here awhile.
Take. Taste. Eat this glorious blossom, a triumphal irony against the oozy silts that are its sustenance.
Jason and you Argonauts— You’ve worked so hard on shipboard and roiling sea. You can take a break.
Why should life all work and labor be? We are not the root and crown of nature.