Aureole

I ONCE praised loneliness, and said:
In this way only shall I grow,
By walking fields no others tread,
By finding lakes no others know.

Deep in my heart I prayed the years
Should grant my spirit be renewed
As Francis’ was, in faith and tears,
And self-immuring solitude.

I did not know that those who walk
From year to year, dear Love, alone
Often grow bold-eyed like the hawk,
Or undiscerning like the stone.

Now to my peace I understand
That none may reach the heaven’s height
Unless he go there hand in hand
With one who likewise covets light.