Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, Whose language is to thee a barren noise, Though it blows legend-laden through the trees.

... for, by all the stars That tend thy bidding, I do think the bars That kept my spirit in are burst - that I Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!

But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings That fill the sky with silver glitterings!

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

I scarcely remember counting upon happiness—I look not for it if it be not in the present hour—nothing startles me beyond the moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel.

Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?