North Devon
'Tis a gloomy place, but I like it well;
There would I choose, alone, to dwell;
The rocks around should friends supply,
Less cold, less hard than those I fly.
I do not care for the rosy flowers,
On them is the shadow of other hours.
I gather'd a rose beneath the sun,
In an hour its lovely life was done.
No! here I will find for myself a cave,
Half a home, and half a grave;
Dark in the noontide hour 'twill be—
Dark—and the darker the fitter for me.
The hills are rough, and the hills are bare,
More like the heart that harboureth there.
I shall hear the storm as it rolleth by,
I shall watch the clouds that shadow the sky.
All I ask is never to hear
Of human hope or of human fear;
I have had enough of both in my day,
And I know how their seeming passes away.
The wind may sometimes bear along
The distant sound of the shepherd's song;
I shall rejoice that no more I share
In fancies and follies that make his care.
The falling leaves will make my bed,
The granite stone will pillow my head;
The cave in the rock is a fitting shrine
For heart so wither'd and worn as mine.