When from our better selves we have too long Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, How gracious, how benign, is Solitude.

Where the statue stood Of Newton with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone.

A day Spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

Huge and mighty forms, that do not live Like living men, moved slowly through the mind By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

O golden Silence, bid our souls be still, And on the foolish fretting of our care Lay thy soft touch of healing unaware!

Let those whose Hearts and Hands are strong Tell eager Tales of mighty Deeds; Enough if my sequestered song To hush'd and twilight Gardens leads! Clear Waters,…

And so, by night, while we were all at rest, I think the coming sped the parting guest.