“The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest— Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast.”

“Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.”

“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.”

“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'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”

“The world is too much with us; late and soon,Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;Little we see in Nature that is ours;We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,The winds that will be howling at all hours,And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,For this, for everything, we are out of tune;It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather beA Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”

“She Was A Phantom of DelightShe was a Phantom of delightWhen first she gleam'd upon my sight;A lovely Apparition, sentTo be a moment's ornament:Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;But all things else about her drawnFrom May-time and the cheerful dawn;A dancing shape, an image gay,To haunt, to startle, and waylay.I saw her upon nearer view,A Spirit, yet a Woman too!Her household motions light and free,And steps of virgin liberty;A countenance in which did meetSweet records, promises as sweet;A creature not too bright or goodFor human nature's daily food,For transient sorrows, simple wiles,Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.And now I see with eye sereneThe very pulse of the machine;A being breathing thoughtful breath,A traveller between life and death:The reason firm, the temperate will,Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;A perfect Woman, nobly plann'dTo warn, to comfort, and command;And yet a Spirit still, and brightWith something of an angel light.”