A HERMIT'S house beside a stream
	With forests planted round,
Whatever it to you may seem
More real happiness I deem
	Than if I were a monarch crowned.

A cottage I could call my own
	Remote from domes of care;
A little garden, walled with stone,
The wall with ivy overgrown,
	A limpid fountain near,

Would more substantial joys afford,
	More real bliss impart
Than all the wealth that misers hoard,
Than vanquished worlds, or worlds restored--
	Mere cankers of the heart!

Vain, foolish man! how vast thy pride,
	How little can your wants supply!--
'Tis surely wrong to grasp so wide--
You act as if you only had
	To triumph--not to die!

Poet: Philip Freneau
Poem: On Retirement
Poem of the Day: Jan 27 2003

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