THE WISH

by: Abraham Cowley (1618-1667)

ELL then! I now do plainly see

This busy world and I shall ne'er agree.

The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy;

And they, methinks, deserve my pity

Who for it can endure the stings,

The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city.

 

Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave,

May I a small house and large garden have;

And a few friends, and many books, both true,

Both wise, and both delightful too!

And since love ne'er will from me flee,

A Mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian angels are,

Only beloved and loving me.

 

O fountains! when in you shall I

Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy?

O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made

The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood:

Here's wealthy Nature's treasury,

Where all the riches lie that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

 

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful mumurs scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither

From heaven did always choose their way:

And therefore we may boldly say

That 'tis the way too thither.

 

How happy here should I

And one dear She live, and embracing die!

She who is all the world, and can exclude

In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear:

Lest men, when they my pleasures see,

Should hither throng to live like me,

And so make a city there.

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