A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard... Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.

Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of reaction, the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.

Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!