Fresh fields and woods! the Earth's fair face, <br />God's foot-stool, and man's dwelling-place. <br />I ask not why the first Believer <br />Did love to be a country liver? <br />Who to secure pious content <br />Did pitch by groves and wells his tent; <br />Where he might view the boundless sky, <br />And all those glorious lights on high; <br />With flying meteors, mists and show'rs, <br />Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow'rs; <br />And ev'ry minute bless the King <br />And wise Creator of each thing. <br />I ask not why he did remove <br />To happy Mamre's holy grove, <br />Leaving the cities of the plain <br />To Lot and his successless train? <br />All various lusts in cities still <br />Are found; they are the thrones of ill; <br />The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, <br />Cages with much uncleanness fill'd. <br />But rural shades are the sweet fense <br />Of piety and innocence. <br />They are the Meek's calm region, where <br />Angels descend and rule the sphere, <br />Where heaven lies leiger, and the dove <br />Duly as dew, comes from above. <br />If Eden be on Earth at all, <br />'Tis that, which we the country call.<br /><br />Henry Vaughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/retirement-2/
