There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.

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 control

Continue reading “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.”