Trysts

All poets embrace
Solitude, they say,
Company of one,
Which is much the way
Archers stalk the stars,
Shepherds tend their clouds—
Labors best pursued
Far from madding crowds.

And yet, Dante dared
Even the Abyss,
Poetry on hold
Without Beatrice.
Beside the sea, Poe
Rages at a tomb;
Autumn sees his thoughts
Stray to Ulalume.