Approaching Night
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take this world away from me;Its strife I cannot bear to see,Its very praises hurt me moreThan een its coldness did before,Its hollow ways torment me nowAnd start a cold sweat on my brow,Its noise I cannot bear to hear,Its joy is trouble to my ear,Its ways I cannot bear to see,Its crowds are solitudes to me.O, how I long to be agenThat poor and independent man,With labour's lot from morn to nightAnd books to read at candle light;That followed labour in the fieldFrom light to dark when toil could yieldReal happiness with little gain,Rich thoughtless health unknown to pain:Though, leaning on my spade to rest,I've thought how richer folks were blestAnd knew not quiet was the best. Go with your tauntings, go;Neer think to hurt me so; I'll scoff at your disdain.Cold though the winter blow,When hills are free from snow It will be spring again. So go, and fare thee well,Nor think ye'll have to tell Of wounded hearts from me,Locked up in your hearts cell.Mine still at home doth dwell In its first liberty. Bees sip not at one flower,Spring comes not with one shower, Nor shines the sun aloneUpon one favoured hour,But with unstinted power Makes every day his own. And for my freedom's sakeWith such I'll pattern take, And rove and revel on.Your gall shall never makeMe honied paths forsake; So prythee get thee gone. And when my toil is blestAnd I find a maid possest Of truth that's not in thee,Like bird that finds its nestI'll stop and take my rest; And love as she loves me.
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