I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

Poetry is most just to its divine origin, when it administers the comforts and breathes the thoughts of religion.

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.