Some Solitude. At last a venturous voice
Whispered it might be Love. The simple word
Gave birth to pleasant smiles. When does it not?
To old, to young, to those of middle years,
It aye comes welcome. Those who have not known
The power of love, with curious longing hope,
Still wish that they may know it. Those who feel
Its present sway, if they but hear its name,
Have sacred visions to their fancy brought
Of certain curling locks, bright eyes, sweet smiles,