Truth never hurts the teller.
Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.
Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.
Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world