 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
187
SEEMING-POOR.
Why poor? tho' coarsely clothed his body be,His food the commonest that earth supplies,
Yet, scanty as it is, his luxuries
Are neither few nor small—content is he,
Therefore he has an ample sovereignty:
A King, (without a King's infirmities)
A child, strange contraries! in him agree;
He too, a true philosopher, is wise
In that profoundest of all mysteries,
Calm self-enjoyment: in his thoughts he's free,
As a bird i' the air, from life's vain woes.
Looking on earthly gains as passing shows,
He hath a quiet smile for such as mourn
For pleasures which, at latest, at life's close
Must be resigned—for which we oft expose
Life, and life's Life—which, in our funeral urn,
Leave but a few, dead ashes, and soon burn
To their first dust! a higher bourne he seeks,
And a warm welcome long before bespeaks:
Nor unprovided on his journey goes:
For in small space lies all Man needs and knows!
He has sought nothing but himself, thus he
Cannot lose what he is, for that he still must be!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |