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SOLITUDE
Near my simple fir-wood table
With the curtains drawn I sit,
In the grate the fire is flick’ring,
Musingly I look at it.
And like swallows sweet illusions
Come in flights and wander all;
Dear remembrances seem crickets
Chirping in a ruined wall,
Or caressing come and sadly,
Heavy in the soul they stop,
Like the wax from candles falling
Near Christ’s icon, drop by drop.
In my room in every corner
Spiders have their cobwebs spun,
And among the piled books hiding
Furtively the mice now run.
In this peace mine eye distracted
Upward to the ceiling looks,
And I listen as they slowly
Gnaw the covers of my books.
Oft I thought, the lyre forsaking,
To depart and change my mood,
And to leave off writing verses
In this wasting solitude.
