The Natural Alone Is Permanent.

Life Like An Empty Dream Flits By.

As To The Pure Mind All Things Are Pure, So To The Poetic Mind All Things Are Poetical.

O Gift Of God! O Perfect Day: Whereon Shall No Man Work, But Play; Whereon It Is Enough For Me, Not To Be Doing, But To Be!

A Man Must Be Of A Very Quiet And Happy Nature, Who Can Long Endure The Country; And, Moreover, Very Well Contented With His Own Insignificant Person.

I Stay A Little Longer, As One Stays, To Cover Up The Embers That Still Burn.