Summer has spread a cool, green tent
  Upon the bare poles of this tree;
Where 'tis a joy to sit all day,
  And hear the small birds' melody;
To see the sheep stand bolt upright,
  Nibbling at grass almost their height.

And much I marvel now how men
  Can waste their fleeting days in greed;
That one man should desire more gold
  Than twenty men should truly need;
For is not this green tent more sweet
  Than any chamber of the great?

This tent, at which I spend my day,
  Was made at Nature's cost, not mine;
And when night comes, and I must sleep,
  No matter if my room be fine
Or common, for Content and Health
  Can sleep without the power of Wealth.