A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

A tale in everything.

She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn.

Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

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