A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
I cannot endure the horror, the evil, which comes to self in solitude.
Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
I love tranquil solitude.
I love all waste and solitary places.
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.
I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.
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