Solitude

Oh, solitude, where is the sting, That men ascribe to thee? Where is the terror in thy mien? I look, but cannot see. Where hidest thou, that loneliness The world pretends to fear? While lying on thy loving breast I find my sweetest cheer. They do not understand thee, no, They are but knaves or fools, Or else they must discern in thee Dame Nature’s queen of schools. For in thy care, with naught but books, The bards and saints of old, Become my friends and to mine ear Their mystic truths unfold. When problems and perplexities Of life becloud my mind, I know in thee, oh, solitude, The answer I can find. When grief and sorrow crowd my heart To breaking, with their fears Within thy arms, oh, solitude, I find relief in tears. And when I weary of the world’s Deceits and cares and strife, I find in thee sweet rest and peace And vigorous new life. My garden never is complete Without a blooming rose, Nor is my life, oh, solitude, Without thy sweet repose.