Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.

A deep distress has humanised my soul.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!