Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/406

 And since love ne'er will from me flee, A Mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian angels are, Only beloved and loving me.

O fountains! when in you shall I Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy? O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade? Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way: And therefore we may boldly say That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I And one dear She live, and embracing die! She who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts solitude. I should have then this only fear: Lest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me, And so make a city here.