I Love To Tread The Solitudes, The Forests And The Trackless Woods, Where Nature, Undisturbed By Man, Pursues Her Voluntary Plan. Where Nature'S Chemistry Distills The Fountains And The Laughing Rills, I Love To Quaff Her Sparkling Wine, And Breathe The Fragrance Of The Pine. I Love To Dash The Crystal Dews From Floral Shapes Of Varied Hues, And Interweave The Modest White Of Columbine In Garlands Bright. I Love To Lie Within The Shade, On Grassy Couch, By Nature Made, And Listen To The Warbling Notes From Her Fair Songsters' Feathered Throats. And Freed From Artificial Wants, I Love To Dwell In Nature'S Haunts, And By The Mountain'S Crystal Lake A Rustic Habitation Make. I Love To Scale The Mountain Height And Watch The Eagle In His Flight, Or Gaze Upon The Azure Sea Of Aerial Immensity. I Love The Busy Marts Of Trade, I Love The Things Which Men Have Made, Though Man Has Charms, None Such As These, In Him The Child Of Nature Sees.