Oh, half-happy sun,
How much you must see sometimes,
And yet, how often, little.
You glance across my lover’s face in one
Soft movement, as though you passed it by.
You must have cursed your haste, so ruefully.
You touch that sleeping skin: does it remind
You of silk, or suede, or something yet more gentle?
Half-seeing sun, you barely can have felt
Those lips, those smoothest cheeks, that noble brow
At all. They’re half in our so-handsome shade.
You’ve glanced one half at glory: no more, now.
In all the curtained hours that we have dwelt
Abed, your chance to see him has cut short.
When all is said, half-happy sun, I’ve made
A bed for beauty. Let us lie in it.
Inspired mostly by Donne and my own occasional resentment to stir of a morning. Particularly when the embrace of idleness is so fondly felt.
Somebody once turned carpe diem on its head, I believe it was the English comedian Arthur Smith. To paraphrase: to seize the day is a marvelous and important thing, and every living moment should be grasped in the pursuit of happiness. But what if my idea of happiness, right now, is to lounge in my dressing gown, good-naturedly watching the morning pass me by, glorying in the beautiful waste of it all? What if I want to have a lie-in, breathe in the comfort of my bed and tell the world to mind its own business of a Saturday morning? At times, there are other ways of seeking perfection.