I envy the feeble old man Dozing there in the sun. When all you can do is done And life is a shattered plan, What is there better than Dozing in the sun?
I could grow very still Like an old stone on a hill And content me with the one Thing that is ever kind, The tender sun. I could grow deaf and blind And never hear her voice, Nor think I could rejoice With her in any place; And I could forget her face, And love only the sun. Because when we are tired, Very very tired, And cannot again be fired By any hope, The sun is so comforting! A little bird under the wing Of its mother, is not so warm. Give me only the scope Of an old chair Out in the air, Let me rest there, Moving not, Loving not, Only dozing my days till my days be done, Under the sun.