Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

A great poet ought to a certain degree to rectify men's feelings... to render their feelings more sane, pure and permanent, in short, more consonant to Nature.

Delivered from the galling yoke of time.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.