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To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell
Slowly trace the forest's shady scene
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen
With the wild flock that never needs a fold
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled
But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
That, with kindred consciousness endued
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued
This is to be alone this, this is solitude!
