The Mystery of Life

SOLITUDE! where shall I find Thee, pleasing to the thoughtful mind? Sweet delights to thee belong, Untasted by the vulgar throng.

This pretty bird, O! how she flies and sings, But could she do so if she had not wings?

The water is the fish’s element; Take her from thence, none can her death prevent;

Flint is an emblem is of those that lie!

Methinks I see a sight most excellent

Thou simple bird, what makes thou here to play?