Solitude
E. Maconchy
How desolate!
Ah how forlorn, how desolate.
How sadly did I stand
When in the field my woeful state I felt!
Not all the land,
Not all the skies
Tho' heaven shined before mine eyes,
Could comfort yield in any field to me.
Nor could my mind contentment find or see;
Felicity! O where? O where?
Shall I thee find to ease my mind! O where?