Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/41

 SOLITUDE.

I the stillness of the wood:
 * I love the music of the rill:

I love to couch in pensive mood
 * Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,
 * The silver-crested ripples pass;

And, like a mimic brook, the breeze
 * Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release,
 * Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,

Break in to mar the holy peace
 * Of this great solitude.

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