She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.

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

Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.