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life is like a flowery spring

Of calmness, liberty, and peace;

I mount not high on passion's wing,

I sink not deep in recklessness.

And noisy joys, where'er they be,

Have no attractive charms for me.

The marble busts—the statues tall

Of bronze, I envy not—be mine

A simple home, whose snowy wall

The smiling graces may enshrine.

Tho' gold may deck the rich man's roof,

It is not time nor sorrow-proof.

Pomona dwells my cottage near,

And leads sweet Flora in her hand;

My trees the richest offerings bear—

Uncoveted their treasures stand,