Free*

It's lovely, isn't it? And yet, and yet,
I can't help thinking that we'll have to pay.
Not for the flesh: that's us, it's fair to say,
But for the joys we never will forget,
The moments of ecstatic bliss that set
Our disappointments to one side and slay
Ennui by shocking us from everyday
Concerns. I cannot think the world will let
Us have them free and clear. Yet maybe thus:
All the quotidian frustrations are
The payment; every moment that we fuss
Is paying for the time when our wild star
Will shine ascendant. And we are prepaid
By every moment life seems dull and staid.