The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.

Theirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.

God's finger touched him, and he slept.

Man's word is God in man.