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Solitude that unmakes me one of men In snowwhite hands brings singular recompense, Evening me with kinduer natures when On the needled pinewood the cold dews condense About the hour of Rigel fallen from heaven In wintertime, or when the long night tides Sigh blindly from the sand dune backward driven, Or when on stormwings of the northwind rides The foamscud with the cormorants, or when passes A horse or dog with brown affectionate eyes, Or autumn frosts are pricked by earliest grasses, Or whirring from her cover a quail flies. Why, even in humanity beauty and good Show, from the Mountainside of solitude. |