 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
51
AUTARCHES.
Happy self-autocrat! alone he walksWith springing step adown this heathery glen,
Freed from the social tyrannies of men,
And each conventionality, that balks
The spirit of its liberty, and then
Worries its quiet with perpetual talks:
O Solitude, O Silence! sister pair,—
I am your brother; walking still apart,
Embodied Independence, head and heart,
Quit of all thraldoms and cast loose from care,
And spurning every trick of this world's mart:
‘Thy spirit, Independence, let me share,’—
Not so! no ‘share,’—no ‘let;’ I claim, alone,
Thy spirit, Independence, all mine own!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |