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!
Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us.
Stop and consider! life is but a day
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
I find I cannot exist without Poetry
The air is all softness.