Solitude at an Inn by Thomas Warton

Oft upon the twilight plain,
Circled with thy shadowy train,
While the dove at distance coo'd,
Have I met thee, Solitude!
Then was loneliness to me
Best and true society,
But ah! how alter'd is thy mien
In this sad deserted scene!
Here all thy classic pleasures cease,
Musing mild, and thoughtful peace;
Here thou com'st in sullen mood,
Not with thy fantastic brood
Of magic shapes and visions airy
Beckon'd from the land of Fairy:
'Mid the melancholy void
Not a pensive charm enjoy'd!
No poetic being here
Strikes with airy sounds mine ear;
No converse here to fancy cold
With many a fleeting form I hold,
Here all inelegant and rude
Thy presence is, sweet Solitude.

by Thomas Warton

Other poems by 'Thomas Warton'

Enigma

Erin! The Tear and the Smile in Thine Eyes

Erin, Oh Erin

Eveleen's Bower

Fairest! Put on a While

Farewell! -- But Whenever You Welcome the Hour

Fill the Bumper Fair

Fly Not Yet

Forget Not the Field

From This Hour the Pledge is Given