Under this tree, where light and shade Speckle the grass like a Thrush's breast, Here, in this green and quiet place, I give myself to peace and rest. The peace of my contented mind, That is to me a wealth untold – When the Moon has no more silver left, And the Sun's at the end of his gold. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING by JOHN DONNE ON MONSIEUR'S DEPARTURE by ELIZABETH I EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS POVERTY PARTS GUDE COMPANIE by JOANNA BAILLIE THE KNITTING by MARGARET BARBER |