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George Gordon Byron (Джордж Гордон Байрон)


Solitude


To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,
Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold
Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world’s tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!



George Gordon Byron's other poems:
  1. To Edward Noel Long, Esq.
  2. To A Knot Of Ungenerous Critics
  3. To Anne
  4. Soliloquy Of A Bard In The Country
  5. Hebrew Melodies 20. Bright Be the Place of thy Soul


Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • John Newman (Джон Ньюмен) Solitude ("There is in stillness oft a magic power")
  • Henry White (Генри Уайт) Solitude ("It is not that my lot is low")
  • Archibald Lampman (Арчибальд Лемпман) Solitude ("HOW still it is here in the woods. The trees")

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