Scottish Poetry Selection
- A Hedonist
A Hedonist
No mission I profess;
But fast myself immure
From clamours of distress,
From rumours of the poor.
For why should I becloud my sky
With grief I cannot cure?
To me the world is sweet;
And morn and eve and noon
A jocund measure beat
To Nature's ancient rune
Nor flower nor bird is April stirred
But finds my heart in tune.
Should I in Heaven's despite,
My happiness give o'er,
Abjuring all delight,
On sorrow's page to pore,
Not less would grow the world's woe,
With one sad heart the more.
Where else would you like to go in Scotland?
