Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.

The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.

The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

Father! - to God himself we cannot give a holier name.

Faith is a passionate intuition.