English Poetry. Eugene Field. Contentment. Юджин Филд.

Eugene Field (Юджин Филд)

Contentment

Happy the man that, when his day is done,
  Lies down to sleep with nothing of regret—
The battle he has fought may not be won—
  The fame he sought be just as fleeting yet;
Folding at last his hands upon his breast,
  Happy is he, if hoary and forespent,
He sinks into the last, eternal rest,
  Breathing these only works: "I am content."

But happier he, that, while his blood is warm,
  See hopes and friendships dead about him lie—
Bares his brave breast to envy's bitter storm,
  Nor shuns the poison barbs of calumny;
And 'mid it all, stands sturdy and elate,
  Girt only in the armor God hath meant
For him who 'neath the buffetings of fate
  Can say to God and man: "I am content."

Eugene Field’s other poems:

1. Suppose
2. The Peter-Bird
3. To Emma Abbott
4. The Great Journalist in Spain
5. Mother and Sphinx

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

William Cowper (Уильям Купер) Contentment (“Fierce passions discompose the mind”)

Oliver Holmes (Оливер Холмс) Contentment (“Little I ask; my wants are few”)

Ella Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) Contentment (“If any line that I ever penned”)

Joseph Warton (Джозеф Уортон) Contentment (“Farewel, aspiring thoughts, no more”)

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