The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.