Classic Poem

Why asks my Friend what cheers my passing day,
Where these lone fields my rural home inclose,
That all the pomp the crowded city shows
Ne'er from that home allures my steps away?
Now through the upland shade I musing stray,
And catch the gale that o'er the woodbine blows;
Now in the meads on river banks repose,
And breathe rich odour from the new-mown hay:
Now pleas'd I read the poet's lofty lay,
Where music fraught with useful knowledge flows;
Now Delia's converse makes the moments gay,
The maid for love and innocence I chose:
O Friend! the man who joys like these can taste,
On vice and folly needs no hour to waste.