Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.

Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan.

Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

His high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.

That mighty orb of song, The divine Milton.

Choice word and measured phrase above the reach Of ordinary men.