Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.

On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.

The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.

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.