Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!

Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.

Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.