The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

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.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?