May I a small house and large garden have;
And a few friends,
And many books, both true.

The greatest fine art of the future will be the making of a comfortable living from a small piece of land.

Of all ills that one endures,/ hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Though you be absent here, I needs must say / The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, / As ever they were wont to be.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.

Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Up between two eternities!