All, all conspire to bless me with your sweets.
Here in your soft enclosure let me prove
The shade and silence of the life I love!
Not idle here;—for, as I rove along,
I form the verse, and meditate the song;
Or mend my mind by what the wise have taught,
Studious to be the very thing I ought
Here will I taste the blessings of content,
No hope shall flatter, and no fear torment:
Unlike the sea, the sport of every wind,