Nuns Fret Not at Their Convent’s Narrow Room

Lyrics

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, into which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such therе needs must be) Who have felt thе weight of too much liberty Should find brief solace there, as I have found