GOLDSMITH
In all my wanderings round this world of care,In all my griefs—and God has given my share—I still had hopes my later hours to crown,Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;To husband out life’s taper at the closeAnd keep the flame from wasting by repose;I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,Around my fire an evening group to draw,And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,I still had hopes, my long vexations past,Here to return—and die at home at last.Oliver Goldsmith.
In all my wanderings round this world of care,In all my griefs—and God has given my share—I still had hopes my later hours to crown,Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;To husband out life’s taper at the closeAnd keep the flame from wasting by repose;I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,Around my fire an evening group to draw,And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,I still had hopes, my long vexations past,Here to return—and die at home at last.Oliver Goldsmith.
In all my wanderings round this world of care,In all my griefs—and God has given my share—I still had hopes my later hours to crown,Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;To husband out life’s taper at the closeAnd keep the flame from wasting by repose;I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,Around my fire an evening group to draw,And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,I still had hopes, my long vexations past,Here to return—and die at home at last.
Oliver Goldsmith.