Happy were he could finish forth his fate

In some unhaunted desert, most obscure

From all societies, from love and hate

Of worldly folk; then might be sleep secure;

Then wake again, and give God ever praise,

Content with hips and haws and bramble-berry;

In contemplation spending all his days,

And change of holy thoughts to make him merry;

Where, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush,

Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush.