To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.
The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.