Pity Me Not

Knee-high in clover I stride over fieldsWhere the sweet-scented clover comes just to my heels.

In amazement I see the full leaf of the treeWhere the March winds have opened the pink bud to me.

In rapture I hear the great Jenny Lind singWhen the wood-thrush returns in the dawning of Spring.

Carefree I float on the deep briny mainIn a puddle of water just left by the rain.

All ’round the world I travel in state;View the gardens of Shenstone through my own arbored gate.

In Elysian Fields I sport every day,Though the world’s in confusion and few know the way.