Troublesome wealth and riches I do not seek,

As do other men, poor as I, and richer than me;

The poor seeking to rise from his penury –

The rich, full-stomached, stowing more, like pelicans in the beak:

For that peace which I find among the simple folk of my kind,

Among the old in the square, or with the thrush where he sings,

Not consumed with the mania of owning things;

Outgives all the riches Earth and Sea do enfold combined!

See what rich tunes from the flutist’s flute progresses forth,

What sweetness encloses in the naked bare-footed children

Of our love-clouded village, what wealth in great tales of our olden;

And what strength by these in our Youth grows, and worth!

Yet do I think me greedy that crave you, who exceed all riches;

Though gaining you steals riches from, and makes poor indeed, my peace!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on May 22, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry

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