CAMELOT FANTASIES

In My Craft Or Sullen Art



 by Dylan Thomas

 In my craft or sullen art
 Exercised in the still night
 When only the moon rages
 And the lovers lie abed
 With all their griefs in their arms,
 I labour by singing light
 Not for ambition or bread
 Or the strut and trade of charms
 On the ivory stages
 But for the common wages
 Of their most secret heart.
 Not for the proud man apart
 From the raging moon I write
 On these spindrift pages
 Nor for the towering dead
 With their nightingales and psalms
 But for the lovers, their arms
 Round the griefs of the ages,
 Who pay no praise or wages
 Nor heed my craft or art.