By A Person Of Quality.
Remote from Strife, from urban Throngs, and Noise.
Here dwells my Soul amidst domestic Joys:
No ratling Coaches serious Thoughts annoy;
Nor busy prating Fools my Peace destroy:
Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rural Ease,
My great Creator's Works my Senses please.
The Mind, in peaceful Solitude, has Room
To range in Thought, and ramble far from home,
Others may court the Joys which Princes give,
Whilst I, in sacred Silence, truly live.
poem by Mary Barber
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
