But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,

To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,

And roam along, the world's tired denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 26.

'T is a little thing

To give a cup of water; yet its draught

Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,

May give a shock of pleasure to the frame

More exquisite than when nectarean juice

Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.

Thomas Noon Talfourd (1795-1854): Ion. Act i. Sc. 2.

Better to sink beneath the shock

Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Giaour. Line 969.