The child is the father of man.

If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

Dreams, books, are each a world.

One of those heavenly days that cannot die.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.