And this place our forefathers made for man! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us-- Most innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty? Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison, They break out on him, like a loathsome plague spot. Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks-- And this is their best cure! uncomforted. And friendless solitude, ...

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In distant countries I have been, And yet I have not often seen A healthy man, a man full grown, Weep in the public roads alone. But such a one, on English ground, And in the broad high-way, I met; Along the broad high-way he came, His cheeks with tears were wet. Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad; And in his arms a lamb he had. He saw me, and he turned aside, As if he wished himself to hide: Then with his coat he made essay To wipe those briny tears ...

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I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: - A poet could not but ...

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