S O L I T U D E

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 unconcernedly  find

Hours, days, and years, slid soft away

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quit 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

Copy write by: ALEXANDER POPE