Taking Stock

A pipe to smoke, and ale that's mulled,

With walnuts fresh enough to peel;

The voice of Love, that comes and goes,

And brings a kiss between each meal;

A day that's hot, for  a shady tree,

A night that's cold, for a cosy bed;

A brain that's starved for lovelier dreams,

A body light, and daintily fed;

A search for keys no man can find,

To turn the lock of Life and Death:

With these my stock, my song is done-

And, tell me, do I waste my breath?