MY minde to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I finde As farre exceeds all earthly blisse That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave. Content I live; this is my stay,-- I seek no more than may suffice. I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Loe, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my minde doth bring. I see how plentie surfers oft, And hastie clymbers soon do fall; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toile, they keepe with feare; Such cares my minde could never beare. No princely pompe nor welthie store, No force to win the victorie, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover's eye,-- To none of these I yeeld as thrall; For why, my mind despiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave; I little have, yet seek no more. They are but poore, though much they have, And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another's losse, I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse; I brooke that is another's bane. I feare no foe, I fawne no friend; I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is; I feare not fortune's fatal law; My minde is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seeke for more; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate; I breake no sleepe to winne my will; I wayte not at the mightie's gate. I scorne no poore, I feare no rich; I feele no want, nor have too much. The court ne cart I like ne loath,-- Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; This is my choyce; for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde. My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clere my chiefe defence; I neither seeke by bribes to please, Nor by desert to breed offence. Thus do I live; thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRAFTSMAN by MARCUS B. CHRISTIAN SHELLEY AND TRELAWNEY by JULIA COOLEY ALTROCCHI JOHN THE BAPTIST by JOHN STUART BLACKIE THE BOOK OF AHANIA by WILLIAM BLAKE AURORA LEIGH: BOOK 7 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |