Solitude

 

I love the stillness of the wood:

   I love the music of the rill:

I love to couch in pensive mood

   Upon some silent hill.

 

5Scarce heard, beneath you arching trees,

   The silver-crested ripples pass;

And, like a mimic brook, the breeze

   Whispers among the grass.

 

Here from the world I win release,

10   Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,

Break in to mar the holy peace

   Of this great solitude.

 

Here may the silent tears I weep

   Lull the vexed spirit into rest,

15As infants sob themselves to sleep

   Upon a mother's breast.

 

But when the bitter hour is gone,

   And the keen throbbing pangs are still,

Oh, sweetest then to couch alone

20   Upon some silent hill!

 

To live in joys that once have been,

   To put the cold world out of sight,

And deck life's drear and barren scene

   With hues of rainbow-light.

 

25For what to man the gift of breath,

   If sorrow be his lot below;

If all the day that ends in death

   Be dark with clouds of woe?

 

Shall the poor transport of an hour

30   Repay long years of sore distress -

The fragrance of a lonely flower

   Make glad the wilderness?

 

Ye golden hours of Life's young spring,

   Of innocence, of love and truth!

35Bright, beyond all imagining,

   Thou fairy-dream of youth!

 

I'd give all wealth that years have piled,

   The slow result of Life's decay,

To be once more a little child

40   For one bright summer-day.

 

March 16, 1853.





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