- In my craft or sullen art
- Exercised in the still night
- When only the moon rages
- And the lovers lie abed
- With all their griefs in their arms,
- I labour by singing light
- Not for ambition or bread
- Or the strut and trade of charms
- On the ivory stages
- But for the common wages
- Of their most secret heart.
- Not for the proud man apart
- From the raging moon I write
- On these spindrift pages
- Nor for the towering dead
- With their nightingales and psalms
- But for the lovers, their arms
- Round the griefs of the ages,
- Who pay no praise or wages
- Nor heed my craft or art.
- Dylan Thomas
that's delicious food for thought.
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