In Solitude

He is not desolate whose ship is sailing
Over the mystery of an unknown sea,
For some great love with faithfulness unfailing
Will light the stars to bear him company.

Out in the silence of the mountain passes,
The heart makes peace and liberty its own —
The wind that blows across the scented grasses
Bringing the balm of sleep — comes not alone.

Beneath the vast illimitable spaces
Where God has set His jewels in array,
A man may pitch his tent in desert places,
Yet know that heaven is not so far away.

But in the city — in the lighted city
Where gilded spires point toward the sky,
And fluttered rags and hunger ask for pity,
Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold, goes by.