Build me a cottage deep
In a forest, a simple, silent home,
        Like a breath in a sleep,
Where all wish may be never to roam
And a pleasure all smallness may keep.

        A palace high then build,
With confusion of lights and of rooms,
        A strange sense to yield,
Whither my desire from the cottage's glooms
May go, to return, unfulfilled.

        Then dig me a grave,
That what cottage nor palace can give
        I at length may have,
That the weariness of all ways to live
May cease like the last of a wave.