That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?

A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.