Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.

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

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!