A book of verse as pillow for my head;
A Jug of Wine -- what is the use of bread?
And your voice singing in the wilderness --
Why, even that would cause me little dread!
A book of verses of a decent size
Can make a pillow that the best might prize;
And you -- the you that always will intrude --
Why, you can hunt away disturbing flies.
Sing if you will; in a suburban street
I live my days, and there much music meet.
I doubt if you such discord can create
As when the neighbours with their songs compete.
But why the bread, that happens in the line?
Is it the poet's, or the flies', or thine?
Perchance it is a pillow for your head --
My thoughts are centred in the Jug of Wine.
First published in The Bulletin, 4 June 1908
