Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.

The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.