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THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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justin h. McCarthy (i860- )
ARCADIAN
HIS surely is a happy lot who dwells In pleasant pastures, far removed from town, Whose life from sunrise till the sun goes down, The same unchanging peaceful story tells; Deep in the rustic lore of fleecy fells;
Proud of the harvest he himself has sown,
The spreading meadows that his hands have mown,
And the great cattle that he buys and sells,
For whom the placid night brings slumbers sweet, Stirred by no sound of any dancing feet,
Lit by no light of any laughing eyes,
Whose quiet days unmoved by vain desire, From summer's sunlight to the winter's fire,
Creep slowly on, until at last he dies. |
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