Under this tree, where light and shade Speckle the grass like a Thrush's breast, Here, in this green and quiet place, I give myself to peace and rest. The peace of my contented mind, That is to me a wealth untold When the Moon has no more silver left, And the Sun's at the end of his gold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALNWICK CASTLE by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK FIRST LOVE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE INNOCENT MAGICIAN; OR, A CHARM AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES THE SEA DREAM by WILLIAM ROSE BENET SOMETIMES by C. MARGARET BRANDT MUNUSCULUM by WHEATON H. BREWER AN EPITAPH ON SIR JOHN PROWDE, LIEUTENANT TO CHARLES MORGAN by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |