Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

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.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

Love betters what is best

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

To be young was very heaven!

As generations come and go, Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow; Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, And feeble, of themselves, decay.