Take the sweet poetry of life away, and what remains behind?
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.
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.
To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.