Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.

Since every mortal power of Coleridge Was frozen at its marvellous source, The rapt one, of the godlike forehead, The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth: And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle, Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

How does the Meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free down to its root, and in that freedom bold.

Heaven lies about us in our infancy.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.