Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things: We murder to dissect.

That blessed mood in which the burthen of the mystery, in which the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world is lightened.

Truth takes no account of centuries.

A tale in everything.

"One impulse from a vernal wood

Poetry has never brought me in enough money to buy shoestrings.