Chapter 21 No.21

Fain would I fly the haunts of men;

I seek to shun, not hate mankind.

My breast requires the sullen glen,

Whose gloom may suit a darkened mind.

Oh that to me the wings were given

Which bear the turtle to her nest!

Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven,

To flee away, and be at rest.

BYRON.

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On the borders of a la