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,