A look behind my eyes

Contentment ~ by Oliver Wendell Holmes



Little I ask my wants are few
I only wish a hut of stone
A very plain brown stone will do
That I may call my own
And close at hand is such a one
In yonder street that fronts the sun

Plain food is quite enough for me
Three courses are as good as ten
If Nature can subsist on three
Thank Heaven for three Amen
I always thought cold victual nice
My choice would be vanilla ice

I care not much for gold or land
Give me a mortgage here and there
Some good bank-stock, some note of hand
Or trifling railroad share
I only ask that Fortune send
A little more than I shall spend

Honors are silly toys I know
And titles are but empty names
I would, perhaps, be Plenipo
But only near St. James
I'm very sure I should not care
To fill our Gubernator's chair

Jewels are baubles 'tis a sin
To care for such unfruitful things
One good sized diamond in a pin
Some not so large in rings
A ruby and a pearl or so
Will do for me I laugh at show

My dame should dress in cheap attire
Good, heavy silks are never dear
I own perhaps I might desire
Some shawls of true Cashmere
Some marrowy crapes of China silk
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk

I would not have the horse I drive
So fast that folks must stop and stare
An easy gait two forty-five
Suits me; I do not care
Perhaps, for just a single spurt
Some seconds less would do no hurt

Of pictures I should like to own
Titians and Raphaels three or four
I love so much their style and tone
One Turner, and no more
A landscape foreground golden dirt
The sunshine painted with a squirt

Of books but few some fifty score
For daily use, and bound for wear
The rest upon an upper floor
Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam
And vellum rich as country cream

Busts, cameos, gems, such things as these
Which others often show for pride
I value for their power to please
And selfish churls deride
One Stradivarius, I confess
Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn
Nor ape the glittering upstart fool
Shall not carved tables serve my turn
But all must be of buhl
Give grasping pomp its double share
I ask but one recumbent chair

Thus humble let me live and die
Nor long for Midas' golden touch
If Heaven more generous gifts deny
I shall not miss them much
Too grateful for the blessing lent
Of simple tastes and mind content