In years that bring the philosophic mind.

The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

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!

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love.