NUNS fret not at their convent's narrow room, <br /> And hermits are contented with their cells, <br /> And students with their pensive citadels; <br />Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, <br />Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, <br /> High as the highest peak of Furness fells, <br /> Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: <br />In truth the prison unto which we doom <br />Ourselves no prison is: and hence for me, <br /> In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound <br /> Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; <br />Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be) <br />Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, <br /> Should find brief solace there, as I have found.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sonnet-i/
