That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.

Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.