The Hermit

Far in de country let me hide myself From life’s sad pleasures an’ de greed of pelf, Dwellin’ wid Nature primitive an’ rude, Livin’ a peaceful life of solitude. Dere by de woodland let me build my home Where tropic roses ever are in bloom, An’ t’rough de wild cane growin’ thick and tall Rushes in gleeful mood de waterfall. Roof strong enough to keep out season rain, Under whose eaves loved swallows will be fain To build deir nests, an’ deir young birdlings rear Widouten have de least lee t’ought of fear. An’ in my study I shall view we wul’, An’ learn of all its doin’s to de full; List to de woodland creatures’ music sweet— Sad, yet contented in my lone retreat.