... <br /> This only grant me: that my means may lie <br /> Too low for envy, for contempt too high. <br /> Some honour I would have, <br /> Not from great deeds, but good alone; <br /> Th' ignote are better than ill-known, <br /> Rumour can ope the grave. <br /> Acquaintance I would hug, but when 't depends <br /> Not from the number, but the choice of friends. <br /> <br /> Books should, not bus'ness, entertain the light, <br /> And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. <br /> My house a cottage, more <br /> Than palace, and should fitting be <br /> For all my use, no luxury. <br /> My garden painted o'er <br /> With Nature's hand, not Art's, and pleasures yield <br /> Horace might envy in his Sabine field. <br /> <br /> Thus would I double my life's fading space, <br /> For he that runs it well, twice runs his race. <br /> And in this true delight, <br /> These unbought sports and happy state <br /> I would not fear, nor wish my fate, <br /> But boldly say each night, <br /> To-morrow let my sun his beams display, <br /> Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day.<br /><br />Abraham Cowley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-vote-excerpt/
