The Hermit

Far in de country let me hide myself
From life’s sad pleasures an’ de greed of pelf,
Dwellin’ wid Nature primitive an’ rude,
Livin’ a peaceful life of solitude.

Dere by de woodland let me build my home
Where tropic roses ever are in bloom,
An’ t’rough de wild cane growin’ thick and tall
Rushes in gleeful mood de waterfall.

Roof strong enough to keep out season rain,
Under whose eaves loved swallows will be fain
To build deir nests, an’ deir young birdlings rear
Widouten have de least lee t’ought of fear.

An’ in my study I shall view we wul’,
An’ learn of all its doin’s to de full;
List to de woodland creatures’ music sweet—
Sad, yet contented in my lone retreat.