This is Heaven, when pain and evil cease, and when the Benignant Principle, untrammelled and uncontrolled, visits in the fulness of its power the universal frame of things.

The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom-- Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings.

I consider poetry very subordinate to moral and political science.

To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.

What! alive, and so bold, O earth?

Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange

I wish no living thing to suffer pain.