78 
THE HERMIT’S HYMN TO SOLITUDE 
 
Not in the laughter loud, 
Nor crying of the crowd, 
But in the farthest sea, the yet untravelled land. 
Where thou hast trodden, I have trod ; 
Thy folk have been my folk, and thine abode 
Mine, and thy life my life, and thou, who art thy God, my 
God. 
 
VII 
 
Draw me with cords that are not ; witch me chanted 
Spells never heard nor open to the ear, 
Woven of silence, moulded in the haunted 
Houses where dead men linger year by year. 
I have no fear 
To tread thy far irremeable way 
Beyond the paths and palaces of day, 
Beyond the night, beyond the skies, 
Beyond eternity’s 
Tremendous gate ; beyond the immanent miracle. 
O secret self of things ! 
I have nor feet nor wings 
Except to follow far beyond Heaven and Earth and Hell, 
Until I mix my mood 
And being in thee, as in my hermit’s hood 
I grow the thing I contemplate—that selfless Solitude !