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O Solitude |
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Henry Purcell |
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O solitude, my sweetest choice! |
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Places devoted to the night, |
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Remote from tumult and from noise, |
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How ye my restless thoughts delight! |
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O solitude, my sweetest choice! |
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O heav'ns! what content is mine |
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To see these trees, which have appear'd |
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From the nativity of time, |
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And which all ages have rever'd, |
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To look today as fresh and green |
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As when their beauties first were seen. |
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O, how agreeable a sight |
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These hanging mountains do appear, |
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Which th' unhappy would invite |
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To finish all their sorrows here, |
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When their hard fate makes them endure |
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Such woes as only death can cure. |
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O, how I solitude adore! |
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That element of noblest wit, |
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Where I have learnt Apollo's lore, |
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Without the pains to study it. |
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For thy sake I in love am grown |
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With what thy fancy does pursue; |
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But when I think upon my own, |
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I hate it for that reason too, |
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Because it needs must hinder me |
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From seeing and from serving thee. |
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O solitude, O how I solitude adore! |
