George Gordon Noel Byron

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
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And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers.
. . . .
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
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Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their read more

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their nomenclature; there is not a day,
The longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the business in a wicked way,
On which three single hours of moonshine smile--
And then she looks so modest all the while!

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and
the life he leads?

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and
the life he leads?

In solitude, when we are least alone.

In solitude, when we are least alone.