O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
     Let it not be among the jumbled heap
     Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
     May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
     'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
     Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
     Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
     When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
    Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
    Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
    In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
    Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
    Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
    Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

Among the hills a meteorite
Lies huge; and moss has overgrown,
And wind and rain with touches light
Made soft, the contours of the stone.

Thus easily can Earth digest
A cinder of sidereal fire,
And make her translunary guest
The native of an English shire.

Nor is it strange these wanderers
Find in her lap their fitting place,
For every particle that's hers
Came at the first from outer space.

All that is Earth has once been sky;
Down from the sun of old she came,
Or from some star that travelled by
Too close to his entangling flame.

Hence, if belated drops yet fall
From heaven, on these her plastic power
Still works as once it worked on all
The glad rush of the *******.

See the man who sits and waits,
remaining ever so still;
Patiently, patiently among the rocks,
under a moonlit night.

Watch the younger one,
tense and all about;
Eagerly, eagerly aside the river,
above the glossy shimmer.

See the man who sits and waits,
not to flinch at nature's chill;
He hears a thump then sees bush rustle,
knocks an arrow without hustle.

Watch the youth,
his eyes wide with fear;
He spots  ripples in the river,
readies his spear in haste.

See the man who sits and waits,
his sure fingers hold their place;
From the bushes emerge a plump hare,
all it does is look and stare.

Watch the youth,
his face is sweaty and he is ready;
He sees a snake, but does not wait,
he thrusts in his spear not to be late.

See the man who sits and waits,
he eyes up his prey searching for a chance;
But then yet another hare is to follow,
it came out of a tree that was hollow.

Watch the youth,
he is going home without any food;
He scared away all the prey,
he has been hunting all day.

See the man who sits and waits,
he smiles to himself as he readies another arrow;
Thwoop, Thwoop go two arrows under the moonlit night,
the man's prey lie before him as he takes out his knife.