For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice?
Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?