There is a pleasure in the 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, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lord Byron
Canto IV, Stanza 178.