Poem – Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

Poem – The Solitude of Night

t was at a wine party—
I lay in a drowse, knowing it not.
The blown flowers fell and filled my lap.
When I arose, still drunken,
The birds had all gone to their nests,
And there remained but few of my comrades.
I went along the river—alone in the moonlight.

Poem – Solitude

Is someone there, oh weeping heart? No, no one there. 

Perhaps a traveler, but he will be on his way.

The night is spent, the dust of stars begins to scatter.

In the assembly halls dream-filled lamps begin to waver.

Small streets sleep waiting by the thoroughfare.

Strange earth beclouds footprints of yesterday.

Snuff out the candles, put away wine-cup and flask.

Then lock your eyelids in this morning dusk.

For now there’s no one, no one who will come here.