...and in thy voice I catch the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.

I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

The man whose eye
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O, be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In loneliness of heart.