Content Written Off Ithaca

I could not find the little maid Content, So out I rushed, and sought her far and wide; But not where Pleasure each new fancy tried, Heading the maze of reeling merriment, Nor where, with restless eyes and bow half bent, Love in a brake of sweetbrier smiled and sighed, Nor yet where Fame towered crowned and glorified, Found I her face, nor wheresoe'er I went. So homeward back I crawled like wounded bird, When lo! Content sate spinning at my door: And when I asked her where she was before- ``Here all the time,'' she said; ``I never stirred; Too eager in your search, you passed me o'er, And, though I called, you neither saw nor heard.''