Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.

He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.

For by superior energies; more strict affiance in each other; faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.

We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.

Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.