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.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all they deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into they depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
His steps are not upon they paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him form thy bosom to the skies, And send’st him, shivering in they playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: — there let him lay.