In my craft of sullen art In my craft of sullen art Excercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lies abed In my craft of sullen art Excercised in the still night When only the moon rages And I became insane long interrvals of sanity WITH With all their griefs IN In theier arms I I labour by BY By singing light Not for ambition of bread or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Not for ambition of bread or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages Of their most secret heart Not, for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Not for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for lovers, their arms Round the griefs of their ages Nor heed my craft or art With their nightingales and psalms But for lovers, their arms Round the griefs of their ages And I became insane long interrvals of sanity