And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?

Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death.

The fox condemns the trap, not himself.

Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.

As a man is, so he sees.

And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every Child may joy to hear.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.