But who would force the soul tilts with a straw Against a champion cased in adamant

The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!

Earth has not anything to show more fair.

The ocean is a mighty harmonist.