When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, he sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life’s page, and be alone on earth, as I am now.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more.
The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted, – they have torn me, – and I bleed: I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean – roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; man marks the earth with ruin – his control stops with the shore.