Select poems / by L.H. Sigourney [electronic resource]

SOLITUDE.

DEEP Solitude I sought. There was a dell Where woven shades shut out the eye of day, While, towering near, the rugged mountains made Dark back-ground 'gainst the sky. Thither I went, And bade my spirit taste that lonely fount, For which it long had thirsted 'mid the strife And fever of the world.—I thought to be There without witness.—But the violet's eye Looked up to greet me, the fresh wild-rose smiled, And the young pendent vine-flower kissed my cheek, There were glad voices too.—The garrulous brook, Untiring, to the patient pebbles told Its history.—Up came the singing breeze, And the broad leaves of the cool poplar spake Responsive, every one.—Even busy life Woke in that dell. The dexterous spider threw From spray to spray, the silver-tissued snare. The thrifty ant, whose curving pincers pierced The rifled grain, toiled toward her citadel.

To her sweet hive went forth the loaded bee, While, from her wind-rocked nest, the mother-bird Sang to her nurslings. Yet I strangely thought To be alone and silent in thy realm, Spirit of life and love! —It might not be! — There is no solitude in thy domains, Save what man makes, when in his selfish breast He locks his joy, and shuts out others' grief. Thou hast not left thyself in this wide world Without a witness. Even the desert place Speaketh thy name. The simple flowers and streams Are social and benevolent, and he, Who holdeth converse in their language pure, Roaming among them at the cool of day, Shall find, like him who Eden's garden drest, His Maker there, to teach his listening heart.