The Busy day is over,
The household work is done;
The cares that fret the morning
Have faded with the sun;
And in the tender twilight,
I sit in happy rest,
With my precious rosy baby
Asleep upon my breast.
White lids with silken fringes
Shut out the waning light;
A little hand close folded,
Holds mamma’s...
An’ O! may I never live single again,
I wish I may never live single again;
I hae a gudeman, an’ a hame o’ my ain,
An’ O! may I never live single again.
I ’ve twa bonnie bairnies, the fairest of a’,
They cheer up my heart when their daddie’s awa’;
I ’ve one at my foot, and I ’ve one at my knee;
An’ fondly they look, an’ say “Mammie” to me...
Martial, the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I find,—
The riches left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind,
The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fare;...
I Walked the other day, to spend my hour,
Into a field,
Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield
A gallant flower:
But winter now had ruffled all the bower
And curious store
I knew there heretofore.
Yet I, whose search loved not to peep and peer
In the face of things,
Thought with myself,...
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,...
From “Patient Grissell,” Act I. Sc. 1.
ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
“Work apace, apace, apace,...
Going to Him! Happy letter!
Tell Him —
Tell Him the page I didn't write —
Tell Him — I only said the Syntax —
And left the Verb and the pronoun out —
Tell Him just how the fingers hurried —
Then — how they waded — slow — slow —
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages —
So...
How happy I was if I could forget
To remember how sad I am
Would be an easy adversity
But the recollecting of Bloom
Keeps making November difficult
Till I who was almost bold
Lose my way like a little Child
And perish of the cold.
How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears —
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual...
* * *
Of H s birth this was the happy lot
His Mother on his Father him begot
