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Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Sonnet XXII. To Simplicity
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O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!
For of thy lays the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress--
Distress tho` small, yet haply great to me!
`Tis true, on Lady Fortune`s gentlest pad
I amble on; yet tho` I know not why,
So sad I am! but should a friend and I 
Grow cool and miff, O! I am very sad!
And then with sonnets and with sympathy 
My dreamy bosom`s mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in general:
But whether sad or fierce, `tis simple all,
All very simple, meek Simplicity.
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