Thee, and her wings will hush the tempest.

Fear not that angel's gravity, the look

His searching eye will plunge into thy heart.

Fear not the whisp'ring of his lips: Remember!

For ev'ry word of thine, each working of

Thy soul is booked, indelible the writing,

It is encircled in the movement of

The worlds and has its history. Thy soul,

Itself a world, belongs to Solitude. It is

So lonely that no crowd of friends, nor e'en

One friend can take its loneliness away.

There is but Solitude that can surround

Thy soul with beings and thy heart with sight.

It opens wide the floodgates of thy thought,

And what the world repressed, hemmed in and stifled,

Will rush like living waters through thy brain

{23}

And sweep away the nothingness of things.

Great Solitude will let thee listen. Hark!

The voices of the Infinite are singing,

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