My walls outside must have some flowers, My walls within must have some books; A house that's small; a garden large, And in it leafy nooks. A little gold that's sure each week; That comes not from my living kind, But from a dead man in his grave, Who cannot change his mind. A lovely wife, and gentle too; Contented that no eyes but mine Can see her many charms, nor voice To call her beauty fine. Where she would in that stone cage live, A self-made prisoner, with me; While many a wild bird sang around, On gate, on bush, on tree. And she sometimes to answer them, In her far sweeter voice than all; Till birds, that loved to look on leaves, Will doat on a stone wall. With this small house, this garden large, This little gold, this lovely mate, With health in body, peace at heart -- Show me a man more great. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN TARGE by WILLIAM DUNBAR AT APRIL by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE THE MORNING-GLORY by MARIA WHITE LOWELL SUMMER DAWN by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 17. ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY by MARK AKENSIDE BIRD CONVERSATIONS, SELECTION by FARID OD-DIN MOHAMMAD EBN EBRAHIM ATTAR |