There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.

And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.

Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.

Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.