There is a solitude man never sought; But like a morning mist of silver-gray, It rises around on him on his busy way -- A vapor from the pools of deeper thought Condensing slowly. One is soothed to find A cloud about him which enchantment brings, A mist excluding transient earthly things, But soon a fog between him and mankind -- A fog of loneliness where none intrude Until it grows too great for human speech! Oh gentle, patient sons of solitude, What wisdom does your lofty silence teach To those without your sphere? Though one may yearn To break the spell, there can be no return. |