A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.
"One impulse from a vernal wood
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.
This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.