Classic Poem

Following our own bent,
Enjoying the Natural, free from curb,
Rich with what comes to hand,
Hoping some day to be with God
To build a hut beneath the pines,
With uncovered head to pore over poetry,
Knowing only morning and eve,
But not what season it may be
Then, if happiness is ours,
Why must there be action?
If of our selves we can reach this point,
Can we not be said to have attained?