Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.

Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.

Free as a bird to settle where I will.