Page:Poems of Nature and Life.djvu/361

 TO A WORLDLING, TIRED OF COUNTRY LIFE 351

��TO A WORLDLING, TIRED OF COUNTRY LIFE.

O, who art thou, that 'mongst these trees Canst find for thought no cahn retreat ?

These boughs to thee are but " ship knees," The grass mere hay beneath thy feet.

These mighty oaks, of shade immense, Thou reckonest meanly by the cord ;

These hemlocks thou dost count in pence ; To gold thou turnest even the sward.

O modern Midas ! thou art one

Whose glance profanes these groves and streams, To whose bleared eye yon golden sun

But a gigantic dollar seems.

These fragrant flowers that scent the air. These shady bowers, yield thee no pleasure ;

And from yon height the landscape fair Only in acres canst thou measure.

To thee yon mountain seems a mine.

Those greenwoods planks all straight and sound,

And the rich clusters of yon vine Hang each a shilling in the pound.

Thou in these fertile fields dost stand, And mourn the peace that is not thine.

O fool ! As if wise Nature's hand

E'er casts her priceless pearls to swine !

Like scum, thou mountest upward still, To live with Nature at topmast, —

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