Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
A brotherhood of venerable trees.
I should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of illustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully the imaginative purity of classical works with gross and trivial recollections.