Solitude

Solitude written by William Henry Davies

Nature Poems (1908)

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Yes, Solitude indeed: for I can see
Trees all around and, to the west of me -
So near I could almost throw there a stone -
A mountain and a forest stand in one!
I've watched that mountain-top an hour and more,
To see some bird-discoverer sail o'er
That mighty wave of earth and settle here -
For to go back that way he would not dare.
And, did I see that bird, 'twould give such joy
As in days gone, when I, a little boy,
Saw lying in a dock the ten-foot boat
That did across the deep Atlantic float;
With one old man, who strapped himself fast down
Three days and nights, knowing that he must drown,
If once a Wind or Wave could lift him free.
Yes, this is Solitude, for I can see
Nothing around but mountains and their trees,
And all the sweet flowers close, and birds, and bees.
The bees, that drink from tankards every size,
Colour and shape, do heave no feeble sighs,
But murmur loud their praise; and every bird
Sang sweet - till but a moment since they heard
A Blackbird's startled shriek, when suddenly
He saw me motionless beneath a tree,
And made them dumb in leaves and out; and made
Even tame Robin look around, afraid.
I see a house or two adown the lane,
But no sign there of human life; in vain
The Cuckoo makes his strange but cheerful note,
To get an answer sweet from Childhood's throat.
In this green valley, deep and silent, roam
Cattle that seem to have no other home,
Nor dream of any from their open vale.
And now I see a wall and gate, so stale
And old - black without paint; which seems to me
Could tell some sweet, half dreadful history.
And then I walked and saw a field close by,
And what was seen there opened wide my eye;
A man with a white horse and, this I swear,
Both of them in their sleep were ploughing there.
Then home I went and, till I reached that place,
I never saw another mortal's face.
A week here now; not one hard living tramp,
Of England's many, finds this quiet camp,
To cheat with ready lies and solemn looks
Me, when a dreamer I come straight from books;
And still I would with gladness, now and then,
Be cheated by those happy, wandering men.

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.