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 herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixed; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please,
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
What poem do you most find yourself returning to?
How are you stumbling onto old Alexander Pope?
Well, besides the big Whitman poem, I keep coming back to Robert Creeley’s “The Rain.”
I saw him read this in a crowded bar in Johnson City, NY. He was amazing.
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I tend to buy most of my poetry from used book stores, so I end up finding oldies and discovering poets I’d never heard of. That’s how I found a small collection by Pope.
That sounds like an awesome experience!