I'le hope no more, For things that will not come: And, if they do, they prove but cumbersome; Wealth brings much woe: And, since it fortunes so; 'Tis better to be poore, Then so t'abound, As to be drown'd, Or overwhelm'd with store. Pale care, avant, I'le learn to be content With that small stock, Thy Bounty gave or lent. What may conduce To my most healthfull use, Almighty God me grant; But that, or this, That hurtfull is, Denie Thy suppliant. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ONE IN PARADISE by EDGAR ALLAN POE MUSIC IN CAMP by JOHN REUBEN THOMPSON LET HER SLEEP! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS BEVERLY SHORE IN WINTER by THOMAS GOLD APPLETON SONNET FROM JAPAN: 1. THE SPELL by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER TAKE YOUR CHOICE: THEN THERE'S T.A. DALY by BERTON BRALEY CAELIA: SONNETS: 12 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. A MESSAGE COMMITTED TO THE WAVES by EDWARD CARPENTER |