Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

There is creation in the eye.

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man.

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.

But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!