With simple joys untold.
Here sweet desire would have me always stay—
Far from the city’s toil, its passions strong—
And in contentment live through life’s brief day,
Unto its evensong.
But Duty, ever jealous, cries ‘Not yet!
Thy place is still upon the busy mart;
Thou must go forth, and earn with labour’s sweat,
The wishes of thy heart.’
And so, at Duty’s call, do I depart,