The open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown – the Air is our robe of state – the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.
The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.
The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.
