letter to a lady

much folly
becomes a man
to make account of it
this place is capital
the sun shines
and there is pleasure
as men may know it
i sleep ill
at a whim
i'll walk or write
in the fleeting stillness of the vapoured night
god gave mind to man
to measure with
man saw the breadth and brook
of want and will
he hitched both to a maths book
they rest there still
i might wish you
much laughter
many joys
for your name day
i wish you none
my gift to you is an image
couched in gold
only one
of a dog barking at the head of the road
and a traveller coming home