While I pass by full of idle thought.
They cast doubts upon my peaceful morning
As if to rob me of the silence sought.
Those silly people, they scarce can see
How little cause for their anxious worry
My lazy passage through their morns should be.
For amid their frantic race to hurry
I am alone, and yet, I'm not alone.
The hills, the swaying trees, the gentle earth,
My repository of thoughts unknown;
And the sky, displaying its daily birth
All red and gold and orangish-hued;
These all greet my solitude.
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