Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.