Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea: Listen! the mighty being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thundereverlastingly.

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

Rest and be thankful.

The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.