“She died, and left to meThis heath, this calm and quiet scene,The memory of what has been,And never more will be.”

“Upon Westminster BridgeEarth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: 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. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!”

“One Lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,Taught both by what she shews, and what conceals,Never to blend our pleasure or our prideWith sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.”

“Hence, in a season of calm weatherThough inland far we be,Our souls have sight of that immortal sea”

“What is a Poet? He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.”

“But the sweet face of Lucy GrayWill never more be seen.The storm came on before its time:She wandered up and down;And many a hill did Lucy climb:But never reached the town.”

“With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.”