The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

Here must thou be, O man, Strength to thyself - no helper hast thou here - Here keepest thou thy individual state: No other can divide with thee this work, No secondary hand can intervene To fashion this ability. 'Tis thine, The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else 'tis not thine at all.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.