Solitude

In quiet times I think of thee,
When all Creation dreams,
And there is nothing I can see,
Half as sweet and dear to me.

A river whispers through the trees,
I ask it as it goes,
To bear my love to you, unseen,
A flowing thought to weave your dreams.
 
A robin red as a dewey rose,
Sings his heart to me,
But the sweetest song he thinks he knows,
Could never compare to you, and so, 

In quiet times I think of thee,
You fill my heart with love,
And there is nothing, I can see,
Half as sweet, and dear to me.