Me this uncharted freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires, My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.

The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.

For nature then to me was all in all.

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

The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.