Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.

Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain

I trust in Nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant And Autumn garner to the end of time. I trust in God,-the right shall be the right And other than the wrong, while he endures. I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward,-Nature's good And God's.

He guides me and the bird. In His good time!

What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): "Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'"

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.