It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
A moment's thinking is an hour in words.
Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.