`Covet who will the patronage of Kings,

And pompous titles Emperors bestow,

Splendour, and revelry, and all that brings

A thousand bitter thoughts, a world of woe:

A meadow glistening in an April shower,

A green-banked rivulet, and, near his nest,

A blackbird carolling in guelder bower,

‘Tis these that soothe and satisfy the breast.’