His heart was one of those which most enamour us, Wax to receive, and marble to retain: He was a lover of the good old school, Who still become more … - Lord Byron

The humblest individual under heaven, Than might suffice a moderate century through. I knew that nought was lasting, but now even Change grows too changeable without being new.

I said with men, and with the thoughts of men,
I held but slight communion; but instead,
My joy was in the wilderness — to breathe
The difficult air of the iced mountain's top,
Where the birds dare not build — nor insect's wing
Flit o'er the herbless granite; or to plunge
Into the torrent, and to roll along
On the swift whirl of the new-breaking wave
Of river-stream, or Ocean, in their flow.
In these my early strength exulted; or
To follow through the night the moving moon,
The stars and their development; or catch
The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim;
Or to look, list'ning, on the scattered leaves,
While Autumn winds were at their evening song.
These were my pastimes, and to be alone... [...]

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.