The Wish

A Abraham Cowley Abraham Cowley
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#listen-container { display: inline-block; padding: 9px 15px; background: #10578E; cursor: pointer; transition: all 0.3s ease; border: 1px solid #1791ef; border-bottom: 1px solid #156caf; -webkit-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; -moz-box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; box-shadow: 0 1px 0 #156caf; } #listen-container:hover { background: #2f9cf1; } #listen-container a { color: #fff; } .listen-container-svg { fill: #fff; height: 20px; width: 22px; margin-right: 5px; } #text-player { margin-right: 0; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; top: -3px; position: relative; float: none; font-family: "Roboto","sans-serif"; font-size: 12px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; } Listen to this Poem Your browser does not support the audio element. Well then; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. The very honey of all earthly joy Does of all meats the soonest cloy; And they (methinks) deserve my pity Who for it can endure the stings, The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings Of this great hive, the city. Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave May I a small house and large garden have! And a few friends, and many books, both true, Both wise, and both delightful too! And since love ne'er will from me flee, A mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian angels are, Only belov'd, and loving me. O fountains! when in you shall I Myself eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts espy? O fields! O woods! when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade? Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie that she Has coin'd and stamp'd for good. Pride and ambition here Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear; Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but Echo flatter. The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way: And therefore we may boldly say That 'tis the way too thither. How happy here should I And one dear she live, and embracing die! She who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts solitude. I should have then this only fear: Lest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me, And so make a city here.

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