No rest can come from Solitude’s retreat;
For solitude breeds thought, and shapes its course
And bids it live within the form of speech,
Or bids the mighty pen proclaim its life,
And write its words upon the scrolls of men.
Thus with Maremna.
Rest she has sought, but sought it all in vain.
What God decrees no mortal hand can stay.
“Think.” He ordains, and lo! the brain must think,
Nor close its eyes upon the mammoth truth.