The splendid discontent of God With Chaos, made the world; And from the discontent of man The world's best progress springs
Far from the city's dust and heat,I get but sounds and odors sweet.Who can wonder I love to stay,Week after week, here hidden away,In this sly nook that I love the best --This little brown house like a ground-bird's nest?
Oh! what are years? A ripe three score and tenHold often less of life, in its best sense,Than just a twelvemonth lived by other men,Whose high-strung souls are ardent and intense.