What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

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

When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.

To be young was very heaven!

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

May books and nature be their early joy!