Classic Poem

Thou, whom the sacred love of sweet repose,
From the vexatious cares of busy life
Hath won, with confidence approach this Bower!
Abstracted from the follies, guilt, and woes,
That haunt too oft the crouded scene of strife,
Here may'st thou pass the calm, the blameless hour,
While dripping rocks their limpid stores distil;
And with a gentle, soul-composing sound,
Into the vale descends the murmuring rill;
And birds their blended song pour thro' the shades around.