Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn

It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.

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

Laying out grounds... may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.... it is to assist Nature in moving the affections... the affections of those who have the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature.

Then my heart with pleasure fills And dances with the daffodils.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

Milton, thou should'st be living at this hour.