A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
The child is father of the man.
Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.