Classic Poem

Methinks I love all common things;
The common air, the common flower:
The dear kind common thought that springs
From hearts that have no other dower,
No other wealth, no other power,
Save love; and will not that repay
For all else fortune tears away?

Methinks I love the horny hand
That labours until dusk from dawn;
Methinks I love the russet band,
Beyond the band of silk or lawn;
And, oh! the lovely laughter drawn
From peasant lips, when sunny May
Leads in some flowery holiday!

What good are fancies rare, that rack
With painful thought the poet's brain?
Alas! they cannot bear us back
Unto happy years again!
But the white rose without stain
Bringeth times and thoughts of flowers,
When youth was bounteous as the hours!

E'en now, were I but rich, my hand
Should open like a vernal cloud,
When 't casts its bounty on a land
In music sweet but never loud:
But I am of the humble crowd;
And thus am I content to be,
If thou, sweet Muse, wilt cherish me!