A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
I’ll teach my boy the sweetest things; I’ll teach him how the owlet sings.
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.
Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There’s more of wisdom in it.
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget, Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!
Great God! I’d rather be a Pagan...
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.
A simple child. That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?
The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.
The eye – it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where’er they be, against or with our will.
The earth was all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way.