by William Henry Davies
No idle gold -- since this fine sun, my friend,
Is no mean miser, but doth freely spend.
No prescious stones -- since these green mornings show,
Without a charge, their pearls where'er I go.
No lifeless books -- since birds with their sweet tongues
Will read aloud to me their happier songs.
No painted scenes -- since clouds can change their skies
A hundred times a day to please my eyes.
No headstrong wine -- since, when I drink, the spring
Into my eager ears will softly sing.
No surplus clothes -- since every simple beast
Can teach me to be happy with the least.
Last updated May 02, 2015