One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

The child is father of the man.

There is creation in the eye.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none; / Look up a second time, and, one by one, / You mark them twinkling out with silvery light, / And wonder how they could elude the sight!

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