Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,But to be young was very heaven!

Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where!But in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all!

Strongest mindsAre often those of whom the noisy worldHears least.

The child is father of the man

All things that love the sun are out of doors.

Action is transitory a step, a blow, The motion of a muscle, this way or that 'Tis done, and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed