I look forward to days,
That I'm free to shed my cheerful facade,
Free to wallow in self pity and gloom,
Days that the darkness that has been shut in my dark cupboards are free to roam,
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.