For nature then to me was all in all.

I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'

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.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.