In My Craft Or Sullen Art

In my craft or sullen

Exercised in the still

When only the moon

And the lovers lie

With all their griefs in their armsI labour by singing

Not for ambition or

Or the strut and trade of

On the ivory

But for the common

Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man

From the raging moon I

On these spindrift

Nor for the towering

With their nightingales and

But for the lovers, their

Round the griefs of the ages,

Who pay no praise or

Nor heed my craft or art.