A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.

The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?