A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Solitary Nest (Madame M. Desbordes-Valmore)
THE SOLITARY NEST.
Go, my soul; soar above the dark passing crowd,
Bathe in blue ether like a bird free and proud,
Go, nor return till face to face thou hast known
The dream—my bright dream—unto me sent alone.
I long but for silence, on that hangs my life,
Isolation and rest—a rest from all strife;
And oh! from my nest unvexed by a sob
To hear the wild pulse of the age round me throb.
The age flows like a river—on, on, and alas!
It bears on its course, like dead sea-weeds, a mass
Of names soiled with blood, broken vows, wishes vain,
And garlands all torn, that shall bloom not again.
Go, my soul; soar above the world and the crowd,
Bathe in blue ether, like a bird free and proud;
Go, nor return till face to face thou hast known
The dream—my bright dream—unto me sent alone.