True dignity abides with him only, who, in the silent hour of inward thought, can still suspect, and still revere himself, in lowliness of heart.
Long have I loved what I behold. The night that calms, the day that cheers; The common growth of mother-earth Suffices me.
His high endeavors are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright.
Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop than when we soar.
But Thy most dreaded instrument In working out a pure intent, Is man, arrayed for mutual slaughter, Yes Carnage is Thy daughter.
Hence in a season of calm weather though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
One whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure.
He traveled here, he traveled there But not the value of a hair Was heart or head the better.
The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.
What is pride? a whizzing rocket That would emulate a star.