Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.

The child is father of the man.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'

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 for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.