Poetry Archives

Happiness, a-roving round
For a sweet abiding place,
In a stately palace found
Symmetry and gilded grace;
Courtliness and table cheer,
All that chimes with evening dress . . .
“I could never stick it here,”
Swift decided Happiness.

Happiness a-seeking still,
In a mansion of the town,
Comfort-crammed to overspill,
Sought in vain to settle down.
Every nook strained to express
Opulent prosperity . . .
But “Alas!” said Happiness,
“This is not my cup of tea.”

In a cottage by the sea,
Most monastically bare,
Happiness peered wistfully,
And he spied me waiting there.
“Stay,” said I: “No need to roam;
Though no riches I possess,
Squat and make yourself at home. . . .”
“Say, that’s swell!” said Happiness.