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 bleak sea-shore,
Where loitering 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-ribb'd sand
Breathe ocean's frothing lips,
Over the still lake's strand
The 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 endow'd!
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 woo'd,
That thou at last hast known
What is true solitude!