I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomed visitor:
'I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields;
Reflection, you may come tomorrow,
Sit by the fireside of Sorrow.
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,
You tiresome verse-recitor, Care,
I will pay you in the grave,
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
Today is for itself enough...'
Percy Bysshe Shelley