Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

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

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.