Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts.
I do what many dream of, all their lives
If you get simple beauty and naught else, you get about the best thing God invents.
God is the perfect poet.
Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.
Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth