The Quiet Life

The Quiet Life 

by Alexander Pope

 

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.