All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are, that thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.

The innocent moon, that nothing does but shine,Moves all the labouring surges of the world.

In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-veils the apparent ill.

Little Jesus, was Thou shy Once, and just so small as I? And what did it feel like to be Out of Heaven, and just like me?

An atheist is a man who believes himself an accident.

Spring is come home with her world-wandering feet, And all things are made young with your desires.

But lilies, stolen from grassy mold, No more curled state unfold, Translated to a vase of gold; In burning throne though they keep still Serenities unthawed and chill.