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Henry Vaughan - Retirement
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Fresh fields and woods! the Earth`s fair face, 
God`s foot-stool, and man`s dwelling-place. 
I ask not why the first Believer
Did love to be a country liver? 
Who to secure pious content 
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent; 
Where he might view the boundless sky, 
And all those glorious lights on high; 
With flying meteors, mists and show`rs, 
Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow`rs; 
And ev`ry minute bless the King 
And wise Creator of each thing. 
  I ask not why he did remove 
To happy Mamre`s holy grove, 
Leaving the cities of the plain 
To Lot and his successless train? 
All various lusts in cities still 
Are found; they are the thrones of ill; 
The dismal sinks, where blood is spill`d, 
Cages with much uncleanness fill`d. 
But rural shades are the sweet fense
Of piety and innocence. 
They are the Meek`s calm region, where 
Angels descend and rule the sphere, 
Where heaven lies leiger, and the dove 
Duly as dew, comes from above. 
If Eden be on Earth at all, 
`Tis that, which we the country call.
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