Let those who will stride on their barren roads br And prick themselves to haste with self-made goads, br Unheeding, as they struggle day by day, br If flowers be sweet or skies be blue or gray: br For me, the lone, cool way by purling brooks, br The solemn quiet of the woodland nooks, br A song-bird somewhere trilling sadly gay, br A pause to pick a flower beside the way.