The speaker begins in a place of deep hurt, sick of the “noise” of people who have done him harm. He’d rather be a prisoner, locked away from the world with only his own shadow for company. There’s a grim comfort in imagining shooting stars as worlds rushing to judgment—a cosmic echo of his own desire to escape. He longs for the darkest, quietest corner of nature, where kingcups hide their green buds and suddenly open into gold. By the end, something shifts: he says goodbye to poetry itself and to all ambition, but he cannot let go of one thing. The “mirth and music of a woman’s voice” is the one human sound he still needs. The poem moves from bitter withdrawal to a tender, almost surprised admission that love, in its simplest form, is the only thread he won’t cut. The mood is shadowy yet warm, like a secret kept in solitude.
Love and Solitude — Summary
I hate the very noise of troublous man Who did and does me all the harm he can. Free from the world I would a prisoner be And my own shadow all my company; And lonely see the shooting stars appear, Worlds rushing into judgment all the year. O lead me onward to the loneliest shade, The darkest place that quiet ever made, Where kingcups grow most beauteous to behold And shut up green and open into gold. Farewell to poesy--and leave the will; Take all the world away--and leave me still The mirth and music of a woman's voice, That bids the heart be happy and rejoice.