Afford me pleasures more serene:
Give me to range the sylvan scene,
Where Ceres' full-ear'd sheaves abound,
And Flora paints th' enamel'd ground;
To feel, from every pressure free,
The joys of Truth and Poetry;
Let Contemplation string my lyre,
And Zeal supply poetic fire;
Then let me Nature's wonders sing,
And praise the power of Nature's King:
While as by chance I turn my sight,
New objects strike with new delight;
Till fresh ideas hourly spring,
And urge Imagination's wing.