The poem
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.