With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.

There is creation in the eye.

Let Nature be your teacher

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.