“Then all the charm Is broken--all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other.”

“The many men, so beautiful!And they all dead did lie:And a thousand thousand slimy thingsLived on; and so did I.”

“The intelligible forms of ancient poets,The fair humanities of old religion,The Power, the Beauty, and the MajestyThat had their haunts in dale or piny mountain,Or forest, by slow stream, or pebbly spring,Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished;They live no longer in the faith of reason;But still the heart doth need a language; stillDoth the old instinct bring back the old names;Spirits or gods that used to share this earthWith man as with their friend; and at this day'Tis Jupiter who brings whate'er is great,And Venus who brings every thing that's fair.”

“Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rangFrom morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted meWith a wild pleasure, falling on mine earMost like articulate sounds of things to come!So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!And so I brooded all the following morn,Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eyeFixed with mock study on my swimming book.”

“And what if all of animated natureBe but organic harps diversely framed,That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweepsPlastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,At once the Soul of each, and God of All?”

“Good and bad men are each less so than they seem.”

“And in Life's noisiest hour,There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ;And to the leading Love-throb in the HeartThro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat ;You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer EveOn rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.”