Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.

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

'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.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.

May books and nature be their early joy!