The Poetry Corner

Solitude

By James Lister Cuthbertson

This is the maiden Solitude, too fair For mortal eyes to gaze on, she who dwells In the lone valley where the water wells Clear from the marble, where the mountain air Is resinous with pines, and white peaks bare Their unpolluted bosoms to the stars, And holy Reverence the passage bars To meaner souls who seek to enter there; Only the worshipper at Nature's shrine May find that maiden waiting to be won, With broad calm brow and meek eyes of the dove, May drink the rarer ether all divine, And, earthly toils and earthly troubles done, May win the longed-for sweetness of her love.