Abraham Cowley

Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave,
May I a small House and a large Garden have.
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Ah, yet, e'er I descend to th' grave,
May I a small House and a large Garden have.
And a few Friends, and many Books both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too.
And since Love ne'er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as Guardian angels are,
Only belov'd and loving me.

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
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Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day,
But night itself does the rich gem betray.

Stones of small worth may lie unseen by day,
But night itself does the rich gem betray.