SIMPLE PLEASURES.
Say, why does man, while to his opening sight
Each shrub presents a source of chaste delight,
And Nature bids for him her pleasures flow,
And gives to him alone his bliss to know,
Why does he pant for Vice’s deadly charms?
Why clasp the syren Pleasure to his arms?
And suck deep draughts of her voluptuous breath,
Though fraught with ruin, infamy, and death!
Could he who thus to vile enjoyment clings,
Know what calm joy from purer sources springs;
Could he but feel how sweet, how free from strife
The harmless pleasures of a harmless life,
No more his soul would pant for joys impure;
The deadly chalice would no more allure;
But the sweet potion he was wont to sip
Would turn to poison on his conscious lip.
H. K. White, 1785–1806.