Retirement
My gentle friend! I hold no creed so falseAs that which dares to teach that we are bornFor battle only, and that in this lifeThe soul, if it would burn with starlike power,Must needs forsooth be kindled by the sparksStruck from the shock of clashing human hearts.There is a wisdom that grows up in strife,And one—I like it best—that sits at homeAnd learns its lessons of a thoughtful ease.So come! a lonely house awaits thee!—thereNor praise, nor blame shall reach us, save what loveOf knowledge for itself shall wake at timesIn our own bosoms; come! and we will buildA wall of quiet thought, and gentle books,Betwixt us and the hard and bitter world.Sometimes—for we need not be anchorites—A distant friend shall cheer us through the Post,Or some Gazette—of course no partisan—Shall bring us pleasant news of pleasant things;Then, twisted into graceful allumettes,Each ancient joke shall blaze with genuine flameTo light our pipes and candles; but to wars,Whether of words or weapons, we shall beDeaf—so we twain shall pass away the timeEv’n as a pair of happy lovers, who,Alone, within some quiet garden-nook,With a clear night of stars above their heads,Just hear, betwixt their kisses and their talk,The tumult of a tempest rolling throughA chain of neighboring mountains; they awhilePause to admire a flash that only showsThe smile upon their faces, but, full soon,Turn with a quick, glad impulse, and perhapsA conscious wile that brings them closer yet,To dally with their own fond hearts, and playWith the sweet flowers that blossom at their feet.