I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.

The wealthiest man among us is the best

My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.