O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
The air is all softness.
Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings