by William Wordsworth
(An excerpt from Book IV, "Summer Vacation," Lines 354-370)
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;
How potent a mere image of her sway;
Most potent when impressed upon the mind
With an appropriate human centre—hermit,
Deep in the bosom of the wilderness;
Votary (in vast cathedral, where no foot
Is treading, where no other face is seen)
Kneeling at prayers; or watchman on the top
Of lighthouse, beaten by Atlantic waves;
Or as the soul of that great Power is met
Sometimes embodied on a public road,
When, for the night deserted, it assumes
A character of quiet more profound
Than pathless wastes.
Ahh, Solitude. For me, it is those cool, quiet hours after the cat demands food, but before the rest of the house wakes up, that restore me. When do you snatch a few moments all to yourself?
Today, you could use a bit of your Solitude to peruse the Poetry Friday roundup at Kate's blog, Book Aunt!