Solitude

As one advances up the slow ascent Along the pathway in the woods, the trees Change aspect, nor alone in this, but change In stature and in power till Solitude Seems cut out of the ancient forest. Here Was Solitude! where man had lived of old, Loved, serving God, and built himself a home. Man smooths an acre on the rolling earth, Turns up the mould and reaps the gifts of God; Plucks down the apple from the tree, the tree From empire in the forest, builds a home; Turns for a bout among his brothers, wins A sister to his wife and gets an heir; And then as here in Solitude departs And leaves small mark behind. The place is rare In this high epic of the human life. Where wildness has been wilderness shall be, But give God time; and life is but a span, Nine inches, while before it and behind Stretches the garden of the cosmic gods; For after London, England shall be wild, And none can thaw the iceberg at the pole. In Solitude one sees the winding trace Of what has been a road, a block of stone Footworn, that lies along the dim pathway Before one old foundation; and the rest Is freaks of grass among the rising growth Of birch and maple that another year Shall see almost a forest.