A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: The air that floated by me seem'd to say 'Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
Call the world if you please "the vale of soul-making." Then you will find out the use of the world.
Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.
O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!