lines that are stuck in my head

Hm...I'm not entirely awake right now, so I may get some lines wrong, but:

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is a rapture on the lonely shore.

There is society where none intrudes

By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

I love not man the less, but nature more

For these, our interviews, in which I steal

From all that I may be, or have been before,

To mingle with the universe and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

It's an excerpt from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage that I memorized, along with the following verse (Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll; ten thousand fleets sweep over there in vain...) some ten years ago and have since used to ground myself when I feel detached from myself. I've repeated it so many times that it often loses its meaning to me, but it's a comfort even then -- and sometimes, as now, I still feel what I felt reading it the first time.

I would give my soul to find the poet who wrote something to the effect of:

you are the wind

you are a flower

you are the sun

Those are the last parts of a longer (paragraph-sized?) poem, and I do not recall the name of the poem nor the poet, but it is a Latin American man.

I read the entirety of the poem in an Instagram caption in 2014 on some cheesy fruitarian's photo of a sunset, and I was either in a bizarre state of mind when I read it, or perhaps just smitten with the concept of fruitarianism (I still am, sorta), but, the poem was stunning, I thought.

Any tips or answers as to who this poet was, or the poet itself would be awesome, haha.

Hope everyone is doing good :)

Today I spent a good 20 minutes trying to remember the name of a poem I discovered in a high school literature book of all places over a decade ago (public school lit seemed generally milquetoast). It turned out to be

Her Lips Are Copper Wire by Jean Toomer:

whisper of yellow globes

gleaming on lamp-posts that sway

like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog

and let your breath be moist against me

like bright beads on yellow globes

telephone the power-house

that the main wires are insulate

(her words play softly up and down

dewy corridors of billboards)

then with your tongue remove the tape

and press your lips to mine

till they are incandescent

While not well read in poetry enough to claim it as a favorite, I will say that it is very special to me as a piece that showed me what poetry could be.

I'm often wanting to find the source of a bit of poetry or lyric, and it used to be not that hard. But it seems like in the last couple of years, search engines have evolved in a direction such that they can't find specific quotes anymore.