Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / His mind moves upon silence.

Locke sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.

O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart.

Before me floats an image, man or shade, / Shade more than man, more image than a shade.