The Merry Heart Poem by Joanna Baillie

I WOULD not from the wise require
The lumber of their learned lore;
Nor would I from the rich desire
A single counter of their store.
For I have ease and I have health,
And I have spirits, light as air,
And more than wisdom, more than wealth,
A merry heart, that laughs at care.
Like other mortals of my kind
I've struggled for dame Fortune's favour,
And sometimes have been half inclin'd
To rate her for her ill-behaviour.
But life was short--I thought it folly
To lose its moments in despair;
So slipp'd aside from melancholy,
With merry heart, that laugh'd at care.
And once, 'tis true, two 'witching eyes
Surpriz'd me in a luckless season,

Turn'd all my mirth to lonely sighs,
And quite subdued my better reason.
Yet 'twas but love could make me grieve,
And love's, you know, a reason fair,
And much improv'd, as I believe,
The merry heart, that laugh'd at care.
So now, from idle wishes clear,
I make the good I may not find;
Adown the stream I gently steer,
And shift my sail with every wind.
And half by nature, half by reason,
Can still with pliant art prepare,
The mind, attun'd to every season,
The merry heart, that laughs at care.
Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream,
Ye social feelings of the mind,
Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good humour find.
Yes, let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share,
And pleas'd and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.