On Retirement

A HERMIT`S house beside a stream
With forests planted round,
Whatever it to you may seem
More real happiness I deem
Than if I were a monarch crowned.

A cottage I could call my own
Remote from domes of care;
A little garden, walled with stone,
The wall with ivy overgrown,
A limpid fountain near,

Would more substantial joys afford,
More real bliss impart
Than all the wealth that misers hoard,
Than vanquished worlds, or worlds restored--
Mere cankers of the heart!

Vain, foolish man! how vast thy pride,
How little can your wants supply!--
`Tis surely wrong to grasp so wide--
You act as if you only had
To triumph--not to die!

Czytaj dalej: The Wild Honey-Suckle - Philip Freneau