Unformed to brook the vulgar strife

And heartlessness of worldly life,

I court your silent gloom—

Where Thought may nurse, without annoy,

The soothing sense of native joy—

The soul's inherent bloom.

Receive me to your fostering arms—

Surround me with your varied charms

Of birds and streams and flowers;

And bless me with the sweet repose

That crowns the simple thoughts of those

Who love your leafy bowers.

Here in the ancient forest maze,

Remote from Mammon's specious ways,

And wandering at my will,

Herbs, flowers, and trees shall be my friends,

And birds and streamlets make amends

For much of earthly ill.

Yet give me here a kindred tie—

Affection's sympathetic eye,

And kind consoling tone;

For though the multitude are cold,

And anxious most for sordid gold,

I would not live alone.

The heart—the heart is human still,

And yearns for trusting love to fill

Its frequent, aching void;

Unless partaken with our kind,

The sweetest joys of sense and mind

Are not enough enjoyed.

Then will I seek repose from strife,

The tender ministries of life,

And peace, the timid dove,

In one still calm, one dear retreat,

The circle of my cottage sweet—

The home of wedded love.