Classic Poem

My life is like a flowery spring
Of calmness, liberty, and peace;
I mount not high on passion's wing,
I sink not deep in recklessness.
And noisy joys, where'er they be,
Have no attractive charms for me.

The marble busts — the statues tall
Of bronze, I envy not — be mine
A simple home, whose snowy wall
The smiling graces may enshrine.
Tho' gold may deck the rich man's roof,
It is not time nor sorrow-proof.

Pomona dwells my cottage near,
And leads sweet Flora in her hand;
My trees the richest offerings bear —
Uncoveted their treasures stand,
And in their falling leaves I see
True lessons for humanity.

The elms — as if obedient, bend
Over my roof — their shadows deep,
A canopy of verdure lend,
To curtain me in tranquil sleep;
And visions floating in the air,
Are better than the dreams of care.

And to the forest solitudes,
I fly to shield my quiet head,
And the wild masters of the woods,
Behold in me no tyrant dread;
To me, the fierce and foolish chase,
Is wearying discord and disgrace.

A cheerful guest of nature, I
Want nor satiety have known,
Mine is a blest sufficiency
And freedom: — what is mine to own,
And to enjoy — enough — no more,
Meat — drink — and life glides calmly o'er.

When hours flow dully on in life,
I bid some cheerful neighbor come,
And then mine own bohemian wife
Gives him sweet welcome to our home;
The smiles that on her visage shine
Are all reflected back from mine.

The morning of a summer day,
Breaks forth in sweet serenity:
And fair as roses are, and gay,
The lovely world appears to me.
'Tis by man's eye that world is clad
In cheerful light, or darkness sad.

I love mankind — I love them well —
Wise — foolish — weeds — flowers — gloom and mirth,
Earth is to me — nor heaven nor hell —
It is — what is it? simply — earth;
Poor thoughtless wretch, by folly driven,
Who calls his earth — or hell, or heaven.

A group of children round me lead
In dance and song the happy hours:
As fair as flowers upon the mead,
But sweeter far and lovelier flowers;
One flower — to him who knows its worth,
Is a dropp'd star of heaven on earth.

And so unanxious, undismay'd,
I wait for death — and waiting chant
My songs — and feel upon my head
The sunshine of sweet peace — I want
No joy — but, hope — as nature's guest,
To die — and say — " Enough — I'm blest. "