Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?

Heaven lies about us in our infancy.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.