Classic Poem

I KNOW I ought to make no dereliction
From the straight path to this side or to that;
I know the story I relate's no fiction,
And that the moment that I quit some flat,
Folks are all puff, and blame, and contradiction,
And swear I never know what I'd be at;
In short, such crowds, I find, can mend one's poem,
I live retired, on purpose not to know 'em.

Yes, gentlemen, my only ‘Academe’,
My sole ‘Gymnasium’, are my woods and bowers;
Of Afric and of Asia there I dream;
And the Nymphs bring me baskets full of flowers,
Arums and sweet narcissus from the stream;
And thus my Muse escapeth your town-hours
And town-disdains; and I eschew your bites,
Judges of books, grim Areopagites.