Without contentment, what is life?
  Contented minds, like bees, can suck
Sweet honey out of soot, and sleep,
  Like butterflies, on stone or rock.

Contented minds are not in towns,
  Where stars are far away and cold;
That tremble till they almost fall,
  When they draw near to Nature's world.

Such quiet nights we'll have again,
  And walk, when early morning comes,
Those dewy cemeteries, the fields -
  When they are white with mushroom tombs.