Love's Solitude and Society

WHEN I must go into the turmoil rude
Of worldly men and ways, I cheerly go,
Since there I am as one that hath no foe,
But moves in sylvan peace, where boughs exclude
The too fierce sun, and paths with leaves are strewed,
And bird-sought brooks in shady stillness flow : —
I need not shun the turmoil, since I know
That Love will make for me sweet solitude.
And if I into exile must be sent,
Let me not grieve ; the Fate’s commanding lips
I kiss, and take my way without a fear.
If in the desert I must pitch my tent,
Love hath within itself all fellowships, —
Is friends, and home, and rest, and plenteous cheer.
Edith M. Thomas.