Poem for Today ~ Solitude

Solitude

Irving W. Underhill

Oh, solitude, where is the sting,
    That men ascribe to thee?
Where is the terror in thy mien?
    I look, but cannot see.

Where hidest thou, that loneliness
    The world pretends to fear?
While lying on thy loving breast
    I find my sweetest cheer.

They do not understand thee, no,
    They are but knaves or fools,
Or else they must discern in thee
    Dame Nature’s queen of schools.

For in thy care, with naught but books,
    The bards and saints of old,
Become my friends and to mine ear
    Their mystic truths unfold.

When problems and perplexities
    Of life becloud my mind,
I know in thee, oh, solitude,
    The answer I can find.

When grief and sorrow crowd my heart
    To breaking, with their fears
Within thy arms, oh, solitude,
    I find relief in tears.

And when I weary of the world’s
    Deceits and cares and strife,
I find in thee sweet rest and peace
    And vigorous new life.

My garden never is complete
    Without a blooming rose,
Nor is my life, oh, solitude,
    Without thy sweet repose.

Poem of the Day ~ Return

Return

Sterling A. Brown

I have gone back in boyish wonderment
To things that I had foolishly put by. . . . 
Have found an alien and unknown content 
In seeing how some bits of cloud-filled sky 
Are framed in bracken pools; through chuckling hours 
Have watched the antic frogs, or curiously
Have numbered all the unnamed, vagrant flowers, 
That fleck the unkempt meadows, lavishly. 

Or where a headlong toppling stream has stayed
Its racing, lulled to quiet by the song 
Bursting from out the thickleaved oaken shade, 
There I have lain while hours sauntered past—
I have found peacefulness somewhere at last, 
Have found a quiet needed for so long. 

Source

Today’s Poem ~ Solitude

Solitude
Anna Akhmatova
So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I’m not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I’ll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun’s last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat…
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse’s tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.
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