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

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.

Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for humankind, Is happy as a lover.

The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow