by: Abraham Cowley (1618-1667)
POEMS BY ABRAHAM COWLEY
- 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.