A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky - I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

We murder to dissect.

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

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.