What is Solitude?

Not in the shadowy wood,
Not in the crag-hung glen,
Not where the echoes brood
In caves untrod by men;
Not by the black seashore,
Where barren surges break,
Not on the mountain hoar,
Not by the breezeless lake;
Not on the desert plain
Where man hath never stood,
Whether on isle or main —
Not there is solitude.

Birds are in woodland bowers;
Voices in lonely dells:
Streams to the listening hours
Talk in earth's secret cells;
Over the gray-ribbed sand
Breathe Ocean's frothy lips;
Over the still lake's strand
The wild flower toward it dips;
Pluming the mountain's crest
Life tosses in its pines,
Coursing the desert's breast
Life in the steed's mane shines.

Leave — if thou wouldst be lonely —
Leave Nature for the crowd;
Seek there for one — one only
With kindred mind endowed!
There — as with Nature erst
Closely thou wouldst commune —
The deep soul-music nursed
In either heart, attune!
Heart-wearied thou wilt own,
Vainly that phantom wooed,
That thou at last hast known
What is true Solitude!
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