This is the second part of our foray into the woods, and these photos of my sister evoke memories of a poem I've long treasured written by John Clare (1793-1864) it is as follows;
There is a Charm in Solitude that cheers
There is a charm in Solitude that cheers
A feeling that the world knows nothing of
A green delight the wounded mind endears
After the hustling world is broken off
Whose whole delight was crime at good to scoff
Green solitude his prison pleasure yields
The bitch fox heeds him not- birds seem to laugh
He lives the Crusoe of his lonely fields
Which dark green oaks his noontide leisure shields
John Clare
I could write pages upon pages about the notion of solitude as a greenness, akin to nature, some thing natural, as opposed to this society where we are so permanently switched on and connected through our gadgets that solitude, and pleasure in solitude is often frowned upon
A green delight the wounded mind endears
After the hustling world is broken off
Where can I find a man that notes such sentiment, please if you know him point him in my direction...
Dress: Thrifted
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