"NUNS FRET NOT AT THEIR CONVENT'S NARROW ROOM"

          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, unto which we doom
          Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
          In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound                  10
          Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
          Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
          Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
          Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
                                                              1806.