The Bliss of Solitude
“For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon the inner eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.”
In this way, William Wordsworth concluded what is probably his best known poem. Recalling those lines sets me to thinking about solitude and its attractions, particularly to artistic people and religious thinkers.
What can possibly be blissful about being alone? Many people today seem to fear being alone almost more than anything else.
Is this not reflected by the almost constant need many young people find for loud music, by the abhorrence shown by couples at the prospect of one of them being left alone on the death or disappearance of the other, or the fear demonstrated by so many at the prospect of a “lonely old age”?