For Nature is love, and finds haunts for true love, Where nothing can hear or intrude; It hides from the eagle and joins with the dove, In beautiful green solitude.
If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.
How oft a summer shower has started me; to seek the shelter of a hollow tree
The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.
I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.
I was Byron and Shakespeare formerly.