A couple years back, I had transcribed in one of my notebooks the following poem regarding solitude by a gentleman named Charles Cotton. It so very well captured my thoughts on being alone at that particular time in my life, and indeed for most of my life.
Dear Solitude, the soul's best friend.
That man acquainted with himself doth make,
And all his Maker's wonders to entend,
With thee I here converse at will,
And would be glad to do so still,
For it is thou alone that keep'st the soul awake.
How calm and quiet a delight
Is it, alone
To read and meditate and write,
By none offended and offending none!
To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease;
And, pleasing a man's self, none other to displease.
What I recently found out is that this was only an excerpt from a much longer poem by this gentleman in the 1600s. I went agoogling and found it here. Part of the poem reflects who I am and part of the rest seems to reflect, in depth, a couple people with whom I have crossed paths on my journey here since last year.