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Poem by John Henry Newman


There is in stillness oft a magic power
To calm the breast, when struggling passions lower;
Touch'd by its influence, in the soul arise
Diviner feelings, kindred with the skies.
By this the Arab's kindling thoughts expand,
When circling skies inclose the desert sand;
For this the hermit seeks the thickest grove,
To catch th' inspiring glow of heavenly love.
It is not solely in the freedom given
To purify and fix the heart on heaven;
There is a Spirit singing aye in air,
That lifts us high above all mortal care.
No mortal measure swells that mystic sound,
No mortal minstrel breathes such tones around,
The Angels' hymn,the sovereign harmony
That guides the rolling orbs along the sky,
And hence perchance the tales of saints who view'd
And heard Angelic choirs in solitude.
By most unheard,because the earthly din
Of toil or mirth has charms their ears to win.
Alas for man! he knows not of the bliss,
The heaven that brightens such a life as this. 

John Henry Newman

John Henry Newman's other poems:
  1. Flowers without Fruit
  2. Opusculum
  3. Hymn to Lauds Sunday
  4. Christmas without Christ
  5. Behind the Veil

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • George Byron Solitude ("To sit on rocks, to muse oer flood and fell")
  • Alan Milne Solitude ("I have a house where I go")
  • George Crabbe Solitude ("Free from envy, strife and sorrow")
  • Henry White Solitude ("It is not that my lot is low")
  • Archibald Lampman Solitude ("HOW still it is here in the woods. The trees")

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