George Gordon Byron

(22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824 / London, England)

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods


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.

Submitted: Thursday, March 25, 2010

Do you like this poem?
24 person liked.
1 person did not like.

Form:


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods by George Gordon Byron )

  • Gold Star - 10,411 Points * Sunprincess * (7/12/2014 8:38:00 PM)

    ..........enjoyed this beautiful poem.....truly wherever we find pleasure we will find happiness... (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Francois Arouet (3/17/2013 6:10:00 PM)

    Wanikki: Not exactly correct. This is the full one full stanza from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto The Fourth, stanza CLXXVIII (178) . The stansa that ends And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay. is the last line of CLXXX (180) . This last Canto contains 186 stanza (CLXXXVI) That final stanza of the long poem with the lines, “Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been— A sound which makes us linger; yet, farewell! ...” (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Wanikki C (9/14/2012 7:34:00 PM)

    i love this poem but, alas, it's not complete (see below) (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Wanikki C (9/14/2012 7:34:00 PM)

    i love this poem but, alas, it's not complete! (see below) (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Wanikki C (9/14/2012 7:33:00 PM)

    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.

    Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
    Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
    Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
    Stops with the shore; -upon the watery plain
    The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
    A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
    When for a moment, like a dropp of rain,
    He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
    Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

    His steps are not upon thy paths, -thy fields
    Are not a spoil for him, -thou dost arise
    And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
    For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
    Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
    And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
    And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
    His petty hope in some near port or bay,
    And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

    ~by Lord George Gordon Byron, from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Wanikki C (9/14/2012 7:32:00 PM)

    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.

    Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
    Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
    Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
    Stops with the shore; -upon the watery plain
    The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
    A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
    When for a moment, like a dropp of rain,
    He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
    Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

    His steps are not upon thy paths, -thy fields
    Are not a spoil for him, -thou dost arise
    And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
    For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
    Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
    And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
    And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
    His petty hope in some near port or bay,
    And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

    ~by Lord George Gordon Byron, from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Report) Reply

Read all 6 comments »

Famous Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  3. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  4. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  8. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe
Trending Poets
Trending Poems
  1. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  2. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  3. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  4. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  5. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  6. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  7. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  8. A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
  9. If, Rudyard Kipling
  10. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
[Hata Bildir]