Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, John Keats [1795-1821) THE QUIET LIFE WHAT pleasure have great princes More dainty to their choice Than herdsmen wild, who careless And fortune's fate not fearing Their dealings plain and rightful, They never know how spiteful On favorite, presumptuous, Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All day their flocks each tendeth; Where gold and pearl are plenty; For lawyers and their pleading, They 'steem it not a straw; Is of itself a law: Whence conscience judgeth plainly, They spend no money vainly. The Wish O happy who thus liveth! Not caring much for gold; Yet merry it is, and quiet. 1609 William Byrd [1538?–1623] THE WISH WELL then, I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree; And they, methinks, deserve my pity Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave, May I a small house and large garden have; And since Love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian-angels are, Only beloved, and loving me! O fountains! when in you shall I Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy? O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade? Here's the spring-head of pleasure's flood! Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie, that she Has coined and stamped for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetched metaphors appear; Here naught but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say That 'tis the way too thither. How happy here should I And one dear She live, and embracing die! I should have then this only fear: And so make a city here. Abraham Cowley [1618-1667] EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY "WHY, William, on that old gray stone, Why, William, sit you thus alone, "Where are your books?—that light bequeathed To beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed "You look round on your Mother Earth, One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, "The eye-it cannot choose but see; Against or with our will. The Tables Turned "Nor less I dream that there are Powers Which of themselves our minds impress; That we can feed this mind of ours In a wise passiveness. "Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum Of things forever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking? "Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, Conversing as I may, I sit upon this old gray stone, And dream my time away." 1611 William Wordsworth [1770-1850] THE TABLES TURNED AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT Up! up! my friend, and quit your books; Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks; The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening luster mellow Through all the long green fields has spread, His first sweet evening yellow. Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life There's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, One impulse from a vernal wood Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth, and bring with you a heart That watches and receives. William Wordsworth (1770-1850] SIMPLE NATURE BE it not mine to steal the cultured flower Yet, like the lilies gladly growing there, I have not toiled, but take what God has made. My Lord Ambition passed, and smiled in scorn; I plucked a rose, and, lo! it had no thorn. George John Romanes [1848-1894] |