This is the maiden Solitude, too fair 
For mortal eyes to gaze on--she who dwells 
In the lone valley where the water wells 
Clear from the marble, where the mountain air 
Is resinous with pines, and white peaks bare 
Their unpolluted bosoms to the stars, 
And holy Reverence the passage bars 
To meaner souls who seek to enter there; 
Only the worshipper at Nature's shrine 
May find that maiden waiting to be won, 
With broad calm brow and meek eyes of the dove, 
May drink the rarer ether all divine, 
And, earthly toils and earthly troubles done, 
May win the longed-for sweetness of her love.