By Edward Hovell-Thurlow
When in the woods I wander all alone,
The woods that are my solace and delight,
Which I more covet than a prince’s throne,
My toil by day and canopy by night;
(Light heart, light foot, light food, and slumber light,
These lights shall light us to old age’s gate,
While monarchs, whom rebellious dreams affright,
Heavy with fear, death’s fearful summons wait;)
Whilst here I wander, pleased to be alone,
Weighing in thought the worlds no-happiness,
I cannot choose but wonder at its moan,
Since so plain joys the woody life can bless:
Then live who may where honied words prevail,
I with the deer, and with the nightingale!