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Nimium Minus Solus Quam Solus


The days were delightful and the hours were light,
Particularly when one was on one's own
And woke up in the middle of the night
Never less alone than when alone.

Reconciled to solitude, despite
The machinations of the telephone
That tempt the air with tenderness and spite,
Never less alone than when alone.

Mornings which dawned dim but not quite white,
If paler than paper, ivory or bone,
Promised the gorgeous sights of trite daylight,
Never less alone than when alone.

The shape of the day, its realistic rite,
Depends upon which way the dice are thrown,
From right to left, or it might be, left to right,
But never less alone than when alone.

Conceived in the depths but born upon the height
Where the mountains of tomorrow shone,
The soul may take its solitary flight,
Never less alone than when alone.


Daryl Hine

A Reliquary and Other Poems
Fitzhenry & Whiteside


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