Ode on Solitude

by Alexander Pope Happy the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose heards of milk, whose fields of bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest! who can unconcern’dly find Hours,Continue reading “Ode on Solitude”