by Abraham Cowley (1618 - 1667)
How delightful's the life of an innocent...
Language: English
How delightful's the life of an innocent swain, How free from the troubles of state; Whilst in mountains and meads and each cool shady grove, We freely enjoy the soft pleasures of love. Like the birds on each tree so merry are we, In the now budding branches they wantonly play. At approach of the Spring they cheerfully sing, And why should not we be as pleasant as they? We aspire not to honours nor court renown, 'Tis a bubble, a dazzling snare, Retir'd from the Court to the happiest plain, We fear not the malice of Fate. We envy no monarch his glittering crown, But think ourselves happier far. There's no place so pleasant as nature's green bow'rs, And a crown's not as sweet as a garland of flowers. Like the birds on each tree so merry are we, In the now budding branches they wantonly play, At approach of the Spring they cheerfully sing, And why should we not be as pleasant as they?
Text Authorship:
- by Abraham Cowley (1618 - 1667) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "How delightful's the life of an innocent swain", Z. 373. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 166