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Poem by Alexander Pope


Ode on Solitude


Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose heards 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 mix'd; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please,
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me dye;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lye. 



Alexander Pope


Alexander Pope's other poems:
  1. Occasioned by Some Verses of His Grace the Duke of Buckingham
  2. Epistle to Miss Blount, On Her Leaving the Town, After the Coronation
  3. Lines on Curll
  4. Chorus of Athenians
  5. Lines Written in Windsor Forest


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