Solitude
I
How
happy
he,
who
free
from
care
The
rage
of
courts,
and
noise
of
towns;
Contented
breaths
his
native
air,
In
his
own
grounds.
II
Whose
herds
with
milk,
whose
fields
with
bread,
Whose
flocks
supply
him
with
attire,
Whose
trees
in
summer
yield
him
shade,
In
winter
fire.
III
Blest!
who
can
unconcern’dly
find
Hours,
days,
and
years
slide
swift
away,
In
health
of
body,
peace
of
mind,
Quiet
by
day,
IV
Sound
sleep
by
night;
study
and
ease
Together
mix’d;
sweet
recreation,
And
innocence,
which
most
does
please,
With
meditation.
V
Thus
let
me
live,
unheard,
unknown;
Thus
unlamented
let
me
dye;
Steal
from
the
world,
and
not
a
stone
Tell
where
I
lye.
