Classic Poem

Content, a thousand-fold, to bide at home,
And hold the kingdom of a rounded mind,
Which breaks into a chaos when I roam,
And wastes on every wind.

The ready wit, the polish gain'd by travel,
The widen'd views and large experience got,
Are little compensation for the ravel
And waste loose ends of thought.

The affluence of thought flows inwardly;
Travel goes outward—fights against the stream:
O rest in quiet thought, and life will be
As rich as any dream.