A Fav'rite Has No Friend!

The Meanest Flowret Of The Vale, / The Simplest Note That Swells The Gale, / The Common Sun, The Air, And Skies, / To Him Are Opening Paradise.

Poetry Is Thoughts That Breathe, And Words That Burn.

Each In His Narrow Cell Forever Laid, The Rude Forefathers Of The Hamlet Sleep.

Far From The Madding Crowd's Ignoble Strife Their Sober Wishes Never Learn'd To Stray; Along The Cool Sequester'd Vale Of Life They Kept The Noiseless Tenor Of Their Way.

To Contemplation's Sober Eye. / Such Is The Race Of Man.