ON a steep hillside, to all airs that blow, Open, and open to the varying sky, Our cottage homestead, smiling tranquilly, Catches morn's earliest and eve's latest glow; Here, far from worldly strife, and pompous show, The peaceful seasons glide serenely by, Fulfil their missions, and as calmly die, As waves on quiet shores when winds are low. Fields, lonely paths, the one small glimmering rill That twinkles like a wood-fay's mirthful eye, Under moist bay-leaves, clouds fantastical That float and change at the light breeze's will, -- To me, thus lapped in sylvan luxury, Are more than death of kings, or empires' fall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOY (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON EARTH'S ANSWER, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH by WILLIAM COWPER NO SECOND TROY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE MAGI by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SHIPS AT SUNSET by STANLEY E. BABB |