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

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.

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.

Stop thinking for once in your life!

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.