A FRAGMENT

OH, leave this chase for place or gold
Through legal quips and tangles,
Which makes young eyes grow hard and cold,
With crowsfeet at the angles.

The miser’s hoard but pays his board,
With meager clothes and bedding,
While oft he finds a golden road
Exceedingly hard sledding.

Then come, ye dwellers of the town,
From shop, and lane, and alley,
To where a river sparkles down
A hemlock shaded valley.

Take from your life one week of strife,
And add a week of leisure,
That memory may some future day
Fall back upon with pleasure.