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    Alexander Pope - Solitude


    by poetictouch

    Alexander Pope - Solitude - Read by Bob Gonzalez

    by Alexander Pope (1688-1744)

    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 unconcerndly 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.