Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?

. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

The child is father of the man.

A lawyer art thou? Draw not nigh! Go, carry to some fitter place The keenness of that practised eye, The hardness of that sallow face.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.

At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.

Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.