"Nuns fret not at their convent’s narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells;And..."

“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, into which we doom

Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,

In sundry moods, ’twas pastime to be bound

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.”

-

William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

From an upcoming class I have on FutureLearn, this is an amazing commentary of the “weight of too much liberty” in life.

I also find its message on the discipline of writing sonnets relevant to the self-discipline required in days set aside for writing more generally.