Ode on Solitude
by Alexander Pope (1688-1744), English Poet
Illustrated by Jef Franssen
Happy the man, whose wish and care
a few paternal acres bound,
content to breathe his native air,
in his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
whose flocks supply him with attire,
whose trees in summer yield his shade,
in winter fire.
Blest! Who can unconcern'dly find
hours, days, and years slide soft away,
in health of body, peace of mind,
quiet by day,
sound sleep by night; study and ease
together mix'd; with sweet recreation,
and innocence, which most does please,
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
thus unlamented let me die;
steal from the world and not a stone
tell where I lie.
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