Sonnet

Is thy heart weary of unfeeling men, And chilled with the world's ice? Then come with me, And I will bring thee to a pleasant glen Lovely and lonely. There we'll sit, unviewed By scoffing eye; and let our hearts beat free With their own mutual throb. For wild and rude The access is, and none will there intrude, To poison our free thoughts, and mar our solitude! Such scenes move not their feelings--for they hold No fellowship with nature's loneliness; The frozen wave reflects not back the gold And crimson flushes of the sunset hour; The rock lies cold in sunshine--not the power Of heaven's bright orb can clothe its barrenness.