Tonight I leave you with this lovely poem by George Gordon Byron (1788 – 1824). The forest is the place to be. It is our home, and some day we shall return to it.
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
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 controlContinue reading “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.”