A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.
God and Nature met in light.
And every dew-drop paints a bow.
He that wrongs a friend Wrongs himself more, and ever bears about A silent court of justice in his breast, Himself the judge and jury, and himself The prisoner at the bar ever condemned.
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.