Sonnet Xlix. Poem by Henry Alford

Long have we toiled, and passed from day to day
Our stated round of duties till the mind
Reaches for change, and longs fresh paths to find
From her accustomed dwelling far away:
Come, then, dear wife, while yet the summer ray
Fills all the air with gladness, and unbind
Awhile the chains of duty; then reclined
Where Derwent or where Dove in varied play
Leaps through his mossy rocks, let us entice
The wary trout, or ply the pencil's art;
Or in some wooded dell that lies apart
Woo the maid Poesy: no unworthy price
Of year--long labour without ceasing wrought,
And intermission of poetic thought.