An Ode to Solitude

Come my dear,’Tis quiet in this house.Mute about me lieSo many things of thee.Come let me take thy handAnd walk in yonder grove.

’Tis better now.The symphony of the woodsEchoes thy voice.Through branches of the treesI see the distant stars;Yet a sigh and they hover over me.

Good night, my love,For I must sleepAnd dream of thee until the cardinal calls.Calling, as I have often heard him,Calling to his mate.