On Retirement
A HERMIT'S house beside a streamWith forests planted round,Whatever it to you may seemMore real happiness I deemThan if I were a monarch crowned.
A cottage I could call my ownRemote from domes of care;A little garden, walled with stone,The wall with ivy overgrown,A limpid fountain near,
Would more substantial joys afford,More real bliss impartThan all the wealth that misers hoard,Than vanquished worlds, or worlds restored--Mere cankers of the heart!
Vain, foolish man! how vast thy pride,How little can your wants supply!--'Tis surely wrong to grasp so wide--You act as if you only hadTo triumph--not to die!
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.