To sit on rocks, to roam o'er flood and fell, 
To slowly pace the forest's shade and sheen. 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen. 
With the wild flocks that never need a fold ; 
Alone o'er crags and foaming falls to lean ; 
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd. 
Byron. 
