“And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.”

“The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.”

“From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.”

“Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,Home-felt, and home-created,comes to healThat grief for which the senses still supply Fresh food; for only then, when memoryIs hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain those busy cares that would allay my pain;Oh! Leave me to myself, nor let me feelThe officious touch that makes me droop again.”

“I Wandered Lonely as a CloudI wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.”

“Lines Written In Early SpringI heard a thousand blended notes,While in a grove I sate reclined,In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughtsBring sad thoughts to the mind.To her fair works did Nature linkThe human soul that through me ran;And much it grieved my heart to thinkWhat man has made of man.Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;And 'tis my faith that every flowerEnjoys the air it breathes.The birds around me hopped and played,Their thoughts I cannot measure:--But the least motion which they madeIt seemed a thrill of pleasure.The budding twigs spread out their fan,To catch the breezy air;And I must think, do all I can,That there was pleasure there.If this belief from heaven be sent,If such be Nature's holy plan,Have I not reason to lamentWhat man has made of man?”

“But trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.”