The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
Poetry is emotion recollected in tranquillity.
Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!
Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.