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 attire;
whose trees in summer yield him shiled
in winter fire
blest who run uncorn'dly find
Hours, days and years slide softly away
in health of body, peace of mind
quiet by day
Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together mixt 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....
One of my favorites...written by Alexander Pope...His last lines especially are beautiful in the truest sense.
1 comment:
i must say real beautiful lines....
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