Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.
Plain living and high thinking are no more.
His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.