Solitude (Pope)

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For works with similar titles, see 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 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.

This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.