SOLITUDE

Alexander Pope (1668 - 1744)

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 slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind; Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixed, 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.