Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/74



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 unconcernedly find Horn's, days, and years slide soft away In health of body peace of mind, Quiet by day