From my youth upwards

My Spirit walked not with the souls of men,

Nor looked upon the earth with human eyes;

The thirst of their ambition was not mine,

The aim of their existence was not mine;

My joys—my griefs—my passions—and my powers,

Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,

I had no sympathy with breathing flesh,

Nor midst the Creatures of Clay that girded me

Was there but One who—but of her anon.

I said with men, and with the thoughts of men,

I held but slight communion; but instead,

My joy was in the wilderness—

Lord Byron