The Weight of too much Liberty

Nuns fret not at their Convent’s narrow room;And Hermits are contented with their Cells;And Students with their pensive Citadels:Maid at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom,Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloomHigh as the highest Peak of Furness Fells,Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells:In truth, the prison unto which we …