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

What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.

How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

Desire joy and thank God for it. Renounce it, if need be, for other's sake. That's joy beyond joy.

Make us happy and you make us good.

Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.

The body sprang At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,-no!