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And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
  Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
  Borne like thy bubbles, onward:  from a boy
  I wantoned with thy breakers—they to me
  Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
  Made them a terror—’twas a pleasing fear,
  For I was as it were a child of thee,
  And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane—as I do here.

Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, CLXXXIV