And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, 5 Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

WORK WITHOUT HOPE 62, 5*the sole unbusy thing*.

I. Through the silent streets of the city, In the night's unbusy noon, Up and down in the pallor Of the languid summer moon, I wander and think of the village, And the house in the maple-gloom, And the porch with the honeysuckles And the sweet-brier all abloom.