The poem
I will not fight: though proud of pith I hold no one worth striving with; And should resentment burn my breast I deem that silence serves me best: So having not a word to say, Contemptuous I turn away.
I will not fret: my rest of life Free I will keep from hate and strife; Let lust and sin and anger sleep, I will not delve the subsoil deep, But be content with inch of earth, Where daisies have their birth.
I will not grieve: Till day be done I will be tranquil in the sun, With garden glow and quiet nook, And song of bird and spell of book . . . God bless you all! I will not fight, But love and dream until--Goodnight!