Poem for April 12, 2023

Like boys that run behind the loaded wain

For the mere joy of riding back again,

When summer from the meadow carts the hay

And school hours leave them half a day to play;

So I with leisure on three sides a sheet

Of foolscap dance with poesy's measured feet,

Just to ride post upon the wings of time

And kill a care, to friendship turned in rhyme.

The muse's gallop hurries me in sport

With much to read and little to divert,

And I, amused, with less of wit than will,

Run till I tire.--And so to cheat her still.

Like children running races who shall be

First in to touch the orchard wall or tree,

The last half way behind, by distance vext,

Turns short, determined to be first the next;

So now the muse has run me hard and long--

I'll leave at once her races and her song;

And, turning round, laugh at the letter's close

And beat her out by ending it in prose.