October 11, 2009 (1326 hrs)
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.
In response to Byron...
For what it's worth, I still mourn,
The loss of green and woods forlorn.
Once pathless and sublime these ways,
Now bleed, carved with human gaze.
'Tis human way to everything defined,
To have, in its control, all confined.
Sea's roars, to music no longer subscribe,
But loss of mystical echoes of ocean tribe.
Its lament rises, and falls to deaf ears,
Of most pandemonic burden that earth bears.
What once was real, is now a fairy tale,
Lost are depths of sea, woods grow frail.
For man's nature, O Byron, plagues all,
Your fancy of pleasure is but a droll.
We ripp'd all nature but our animal within,
Nay, our real world is hell of our own sin.
The dream you sell, we lost it long ago,
That first disobedience, brought us all our woe.
But let it not turn you in your eternal sleep,
Your fantasy is still forever yours to keep.
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.
- Lord
Byron
In response to Byron...
For what it's worth, I still mourn,
The loss of green and woods forlorn.
Once pathless and sublime these ways,
Now bleed, carved with human gaze.
'Tis human way to everything defined,
To have, in its control, all confined.
Sea's roars, to music no longer subscribe,
But loss of mystical echoes of ocean tribe.
Its lament rises, and falls to deaf ears,
Of most pandemonic burden that earth bears.
What once was real, is now a fairy tale,
Lost are depths of sea, woods grow frail.
For man's nature, O Byron, plagues all,
Your fancy of pleasure is but a droll.
We ripp'd all nature but our animal within,
Nay, our real world is hell of our own sin.
The dream you sell, we lost it long ago,
That first disobedience, brought us all our woe.
But let it not turn you in your eternal sleep,
Your fantasy is still forever yours to keep.
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