Monday, August 09, 2010

Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744)







Ode on Solitude


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 dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye.


HT: Wes Callihan

1 comment:

Ann said...

I love this poem - love the idea of solitude and quietness - things that are so foreign to today. I've been perusing your blog and I will enjoy checking back now and then. Thanks for sharing this poem!
Anna Belle