Verse

George Gordon, Lord Byron:

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage

Canto IV

CLXXVIII

There is a pleasure in these pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, of have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.