I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields; —
Reflection, you may come tomorrow,
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. —
You with the unpaid bill, Despair, —
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, —
I will pay you in the grave, —
Death will listen to your stave.

l. 31. - To Jane: The Invitation (1822)