O nature I do not aspire To be the highest in thy quire, To be a meteor in the sky Or comet that may range on high, Only a zephyr that may blow Among the reeds by the river low. Give me thy most privy place Where to run my airy race. In some withdrawn unpublic mead Let me sigh upon a reed, Or in the woods with leafy din Whisper the still evening in, For I had rather be thy child And pupil in the forest wild Than be the king of men elsewhere And most sovereign slave of care To have one moment of thy dawn Than share the city's year forlorn. Some still work give me to do Only be it near to you.
