Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room | a | ||||
And hermits are contented with their cells; | b | ||||
And students with their pensive citadels; | b | ||||
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, | a | ||||
5 |
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, | a | |||
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, | b | ||||
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: | b | ||||
In truth the prison, into which we doom | a | ||||
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me, | c | ||||
10 |
In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound | d | |||
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; | d | ||||
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) | c | ||||
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, | c | ||||
Should find brief solace there, as I have found. | d | ||||
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