Content Written Off Ithaca - Poem by Alfred Austin
I could not find the little maid Content,
So out I rushed, and sought her far and wide;
But not where Pleasure each new fancy tried,
Heading the maze of reeling merriment,
Nor where, with restless eyes and bow half bent,
Love in a brake of sweetbrier smiled and sighed,
Nor yet where Fame towered crowned and glorified,
Found I her face, nor wheresoe'er I went.
So homeward back I crawled like wounded bird,
When lo! Content sate spinning at my door:
And when I asked her where she was before-
``Here all the time,'' she said; ``I never stirred;
Too eager in your search, you passed me o'er,
And, though I called, you neither saw nor heard.''
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