If we fill our lives with things,
And again with things,

If we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,

when will we have time
to make the long slow desert
across the desert as did the Magi
or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds
or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary?

For each one of us,
There is a desert to travel
A star to discover
And a being within ourselves to bring to life

I cannot grow
I have no shadow
To run away from
I only play.

I cannot err,
There is no creature
Whom I belong to
Whom I could wrong.

I am defeat
When it knows it
Can now do nothing
By suffering.

All you lived through
Dancing because you
No longer need it
For any deed.

I shall never be
Different. Love me.

W.H. Auden