Ode on Solitude
Alexander Pope
1688 to 1744
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Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.
Sound by night; study and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation;
innocence, which most does please
With meditation.
Thus let live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.