Earth, With Her Thousand Voices, Praises God.

Works Of Imagination Should Be Written In Very Plain Language; The More Purely Imaginative They Are The More Necessary It Is To Be Plain.

A Wild Rose Roofs The Ruined Shed, And That And Summer Well Agree.

Joy Is The Sweet Voice, Joy The Luminous Cloud. We In Ourselves Rejoice! And Thence Flows All That Charms Or Ear Or Sight, All Melodies The Echoes Of That Voice, All Colours A Suffusion From That Light.

The Love Of Indolence Is Universal, Or Next To It.

Ah! Well A-day! What Evil Looks / Had I From Old And Young! / Instead Of The Cross, The Albatross / About My Neck Was Hung.