Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.

These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.

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

And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

[Mathematics] is an independent world created out of pure intelligence.

Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.