And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
We have woven a web, you and I, attached to this world but a separate world of our own invention.
He ne'er is crowned with immortality Who fears to follow where airy voices lead.
All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.