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SOLITUDE. 123
While, from her wind-rocked nest, the mother-bird Sang to her nurslings.
Yet I strangely thought To be alone and silent in thy realm, Spirit of light and love ! It might not be ! There is no solitude in thy domains, Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast He locks his joy, and shuts out others' grief. Thou hast not left thyself in this wide world Without a witness. Even the desert place Speaketh thy name. The simple flowers and streams Are social and benevolent, and he Who holdeth converse in their language pure, Roaming among them at the cool of day, Shall find, like him who Eden's garden drest, His Maker there, to teach the listening heart.
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