Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here; The daisy, fresh from nature's sleep, Tells of His hand in lines as clear.

The perfection of an art consists in the employment of a comprehensive system of laws, commensurate to every purpose within its scope, but concealed from the eye of the spectator; and in the production of effects that seem to flow forth spontaneously, as though uncontrolled by their influence, and which are equally excellent, whether regarded individually, or in reference to the proposed result.

Happiness consists in activity. It is running steam, not a stagnant pool.

Thou unassuming Commonplace Of Nature.

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.

The poet's darling.