LXXXIII A Wish
Happy were he could finish forth his fate
In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure
From all society, from love and hate
Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure;
Then wake again, and yield God ever praise;
Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry;
In contemplation passing still his days,
And change of holy thoughts to make him merry:
Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush
Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush:
—Happy were he!
R. Devereux, Earl of Essex