On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!

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

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!