That best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

Come forth into the light of things, Let Nature be your teacher.

Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop Than when we soar.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop Than when we soar.

Whether we be young or old, Our destiny, our being's heart and home, Is with infinitude, and only there; With hope it is, hope that can never die, Effort, and expectation, and desire, And something evermore about to be.

Love stoops as fondly as he soars.

The memory of the just survives in Heaven.