Ne'er did I survey with so keen an eye
The bustling multitude in this place,
Seeking in despair a knowable face,
That stirs the tranquil sea of memory.
In this drear season of autumnal sigh,
I recall how I once bragged in feigned grace
Of my love for Solitude's carefree pace,
With which crowd'd pleasure I would defy.
So now these passing visages I see,
Whose features are nothing but strange to me,
And Solitude's twist'd nature I peer through
(How false poets sink in its perverse delight!)
To know in regret poetry's finest insight,
That lies in human embraces warm and true.
--
Where words fail, music speaks.
--
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