Death is Life's high meed.

I compare human life to a large mansion of many apartments, two of which I can only describe, the doors of the rest being as yet shut upon me.

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory.

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings

The imagination may be compared to Adam's dream-he awoke and found it truth.