“With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.”

Strongest minds are often those whom the noisy world hears least.

From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.

Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge – it is as immortal as the heart of man.

Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Prompt to move but firm to wait – knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

And I am happy when I sing.

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise,O Nature! we are thine.

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn.

Suffering is permanent, obscure and dark, And shares the nature of infinity.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

My heart leaps up when I behold

Let Nature be your teacher.

It was as though our love were a small creature caught in a trap and bleeding to death: I had to shut my eyes and wring its neck.

Don’t fall for someone who doesn’t have a spark of wild in their eyes.

A wonder lasts but nine days, and then the puppy’s eyes are open.

For since mine eyes your joyous sight did miss, my cheerful day is turned to cheerless night.

Is beauty beautiful, or is it only our eyes that make it so?

Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.

A sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by looks, Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books– I trow that countenance cannot lye Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.

I could meet dreadful people and end up seeing the world through their eyes, seeing their frailties, their needs.