This poem was first published in Songs in Wiltshire (1909).
I teach no new philosophy
   In mystic numbers, danger-fraught,
Nor seek a proof from history,
   Nor dig, mine-deep, for speechless thought;
But pluck such flowers as bloom alone,
And weave small garlands of my own.

Nor do I covet other's praise
   For they have greater skill to please,
Fame cometh oft by narrow ways;
   Small barks will swim to widest seas;
All come to harbour late or soon,
And great ones are not great alone.

Small needs a little will suffice;
   I take not ill where good is meant;
One's hell is other's paradise,
   One's bliss another's punishment;
All features are not starred the same,
And nothing's nameless but in name,

Who nothing owns can nothing lose,
   I fear to climb for fear to fall,
Let others toil as others use,
   One disappointment waits them all;
Content is sought, but seldom found,
Blind fortune deals a double wound.

All riches wait at my command,
   Where my eyes wander there are they,
Green-liveried slaves around me stand,
   I give the order, they obey;
My hap is great, though fortune small,
And having nothing, yet have all.

Title photography by Kara-Jane Senior

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