Content Written Off Ithica poem – Alfred Austin

I could not find the little maid Content,

So out I rushed, and sought her far and wide;

But not where Pleasure each new fancy tried,

Heading the maze of reeling merriment,

Nor where, with restless eyes and bow half bent,

Love in a brake of sweetbrier smiled and sighed,

Nor yet where Fame towered crowned and glorified,

Found I her face, nor wheresoe’er I went.

So homeward back I crawled like wounded bird,

When lo! Content sate spinning at my door:

And when I asked her where she was before-

“Here all the time,” she said; “I never stirred;

Too eager in your search, you passed me o’er,

And, though I called, you neither saw nor heard.”