Hurt no living thing: Ladybird, nor butterfly, Nor moth with dusty wing.
Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore; All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
One day in the country Is worth a month in town
Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.
Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land.
A man is ever apt to contemplate himself out of all proportion to his surroundings.