But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.

The Eagle, he was lord above

That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.

Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.

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