Loneliness

Sometimes when I am long alone
I wonder what is loneliness —
This silence like a deep bell's tone,
These moments, motionless?

This hush above the nervous street?
Removed as is the tree that stands,
Hill-high, with burrowing root-feet
And boughs like reaching hands.

As in my blood I feel life press,
Like sap into the frailest bough,
I think if such is loneliness
Then I am lonely now.