Some less majestic, less beloved head?

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 168.

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place,[547:1]

With one fair spirit for my minister,

That I might all forget the human race,

And hating no one, love but only her!

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 177.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is a rapture on the lonely shore;

There is society, where none intrudes,