Composed In Solitude Poem by Andrew Benton

A slight boy wandered with glassy eye
beneath the alabaster sky,
and cried for joy at being free from
evil thoughts of man,

a soft respite upon the plain,
the final Abel finds his Cain,
which became darkness, conquered hope,
and burned to crystal, sand.

The land is weary of us if
a younger lad still yet than this,
transparent, locks aloft in joy,
is free by right to join the cliffs,

in stature and in platitude
above the valley’s noxious poor—
huddled masses, all trespasses,
ever calling, “nevermore.”