My walls outside must have some flowers, <br />My walls within must have some books; <br />A house that's small; a garden large, <br />And in it leafy nooks. <br /> <br />A little gold that's sure each week; <br />That comes not from my living kind, <br />But from a dead man in his grave, <br />Who cannot change his mind. <br /> <br />A lovely wife, and gentle too; <br />Contented that no eyes but mine <br />Can see her many charms, nor voice <br />To call her beauty fine. <br /> <br />Where she would in that stone cage live, <br />A self-made prisoner, with me; <br />While many a wild bird sang around, <br />On gate, on bush, on tree. <br /> <br />And she sometimes to answer them, <br />In her far sweeter voice than all; <br />Till birds, that loved to look on leaves, <br />Will doat on a stone wall. <br /> <br />With this small house, this garden large, <br />This little gold, this lovely mate, <br />With health in body, peace in heart-- <br />Show me a man more great.<br /><br />William Henry Davies<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/truly-great/
