Solitude

Now through the darkness weaves a silken skein,
A single, isolated thread of snake,
Tranquillity and pleasure forged from pain
Enshroud its head and glisten in its wake;
Now are the days and years of emptiness
Transmuted from cold clasp to warm caress.

The stranger, once so lonely in the crowd
Becomes a hermit totally content
In solitude, and meditates unbowed
By stresses he has learned to circumvent,
Or redirect in some enchanted way:
A phoenix from the ash of yesterday.

Sweet Mother Nature! How you cleanse and heal
The deepest wound, and mend the cruellest tear,
For fate and fire first torment then anneal
The weak flesh and the wanting willís despair.
To ugliness the spirit is made blind,
To loneliness is added peace of mind.

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