“My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky:So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!The Child is father of the Man;And I could wish my days to beBound each to each by natural piety.”

“My heart leaps up when I beholdA rainbow in the sky:So was it when my life began;So is it now I am a man;”

“The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. ”

“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?”

“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.”

“Imagination! lifting up itselfBefore the eye and progress of my SongLike and unfather'd vapour; here that PowerIn all the might of its endowments, cameAthwart me; I was lost as in a cloud,Halted without a struggle to break through,And now recovering to my Soul I sayI recognize they glory; in such strengthOf usurpation, in such visitingsOf awful promise, when the light of senseGoes out in flashes that have shewn to usThe invisible world, doth Greatness make abodeThere harbours whether we be young or old. Our destiny, our nature, and our homeIs with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort, and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.”

“In sleep I heard the northern gleams;The stars they were among my dreams;In sleep did I behold the skies”