'The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne' - Chaucer

"In my craft, or sullen art,
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers are 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.'

Dylan Thomas