Solitude is like a rain. That from the sea at dusk begins to rise; It floats remote across the far-off plain. Upward into its dwelling-place, the skies. Then o’er the town it slowly sinks again. Like rain it softly falls at that dim hour. When ghostly lanes turn toward the shadowy morn; When bodies weighed with satiate passion’s power.

I wish I might become like one of these. Who, in the night on horses wild astride, With torches flaming out like loosened hair On to the chase through the great swift wind ride. I wish to stand as on a boat and dare. The sweeping storm, mighty, like flag unrolled. In darkness but with helmet made of gold. That shimmers restlessly. And in a row, Behind me in the dark, ten men that glow.