Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
In the House of IdiedailyBliss Carman (18611929)
O, but life went gaily, gaily,
In the house of Idiedaily!
Down the river-banks with spring,
Set the sapling’s heart on fire.
Leisure in the purple shadows,
Bow’d their heads in crimson slumber,
Every unreluctant lover.
Better’d all the dusk she stray’d in,
Bankrupted oblivion there.
In the house of Idiedaily!
With its chambers, bare and narrow,
Where the silence makes you squirmy,
Is a vile place, a mere lean-to,
Even worse than I heard tell of,
What a dwelling for a soul!
In the house of Idiedaily!
From the slander of the storm.
Living on to-morrow’s labour.
Though Sir Ringlets might be dreaming.
Not a cup but floated borage.
Waiting for the makers merry,
That would make a fool divine.
In the house of Idiedaily!