Ode on Solitude

Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mixed; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please with meditation

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.


---Alexander Pope, 1700

From a note I sent to my friends about this poem:

Do I believe solitude like this is really possible? No. Maybe there would be a few random "good" years where it would be possible, but it's probably not sustainable. I do believe we were designed for community. But I also believe we have swung to the pole which lies in direct opposition to solitude. (I think you must believe this, too?) 

Still, I love the poem and what it awakens in me. Perhaps I wouldn't have to fantasize about such solitude if I were closer to the middle? I wonder what I will take on after school is done. There's so much I'd like to learn to get me closer to the middle:        

(X)Community----------------------------------middle---------------------------------------Solitude(X)