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

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.

This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Wisdom sits with children round her knees.

Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.

Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.