Thomas Hardy — To a Lady Playing and Singing in the Morning

        Joyful lady, sing! And I will lurk here listening, Though nought be done, and nought begun, And work-hours swift are scurrying.         Sing, O lady, still! Aye, I will wait each note you trill, Though duties due that press to do This whole day long I unfulfil.         “ - It is an evening tune; One not designed to waste the noon,” You say. I know: time bids me go - For daytide passes too, too soon!         But let indulgence be, This once, to my rash ecstasy: When sounds nowhere that carolled air My idled morn may comfort me!