THOUGH far from joy, my sorrows are as far, And I both between; Not too low, nor yet too high Above my reach, would I be seen. Happy is he that so is placed, Not to be envied nor to be disdained or disgraced. The higher trees, the more storms they endure; Shrubs be trodden down: But the Mean, the Golden Mean, Doth only all our fortunes crown: Like to a stream that sweetly slideth Through the flowery banks, and still in the midst his course guideth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EMILY SPARKS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE ELEPHANT by HILAIRE BELLOC CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS MEMORY by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE WOMEN WITH FABLED HAIR by MADELINE DEFREES DEAD LEAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |