Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.

Because the good old rule Sufficeth them,-the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.