By Alexander Pope. Circa 1700.
Long a favorite.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix’d; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
This is gorgeous. Please illustrate more poems. I love Pope’s satire, but of course this lends itself more to beautiful pictures…
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Thanks Tara. Sorry a bit late on the reply, I was out of service range for a few days. If I do more poems I think that’s a good idea. Happy new year btw!
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