James Gates Percival (1795–1856)

AM I not all alone?—The world is still

In passionless slumber,—not a tree but feels

The far-pervading hush, and softer steals

The misty river by. Yon broad bare hill

Looks coldly up to heaven, and all the stars

Seem eyes deep fixed in silence, as if bound

By some unearthly spell,—no other sound

But the owl’s unfrequent moan.—Their airy cars

The winds have stationed on the mountain peaks.

Am I not all alone?—A spirit speaks

From the abyss of night, “Not all alone:

Nature is round thee with her banded powers,

And ancient genius haunts thee in these hours;

Mind and its kingdom now are all thine own.”