Within the unpainted cottage dwell The spirits of serene content, As clear as from its moss-grown well Rises the crystal element. Above, the elm, whose trunk is scarred With many a dint of stormy weather, Rises, a sumptuous screen, debarred Of nothing that links life together. Our common life may gratify More feelings than the rarest art, For nothing can aspire so high As beatings of the human heart. O! value then thy daily cheer, Poor pensioner on nature's store, And clasp the least, and hold most dear What seemeth small, and add the more. |