Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.

Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.

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

The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, An appetite; a feeling and a love that had no need of a remoter charm by thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.