Sing me soft lullaby.

This lot be mine! I envy not their gold
Who rove the furious ocean foam:
A frugal life will all my pleasures hold,
If love be mine, and home.

Enough I travel, if I steal away
To sleep at noon-tide by the flow
Of some cool stream. Could India's jewels pay
For longer absence? No!

Let great Messala vanquish land and sea,
And deck with spoils his golden hall!
I am myself a conquest, and must be
My Delia's captive thrall.

Be Delia mine, and Fame may flout and scorn,
Or brand me with the sluggard's name!
With cheerful hands I'll plant my upland corn,
And live to laugh at Fame.

If I might hold my Delia to my side,
The bare ground were a happier bed
Than theirs who, on a couch of silken pride,
Must mourn for love long dead.

Gilt couch, soft down, slow fountains murmuring song--
These bring no peace. Befooled by words
Was he who, when in love a victor strong,