In Vain Would Science Scan

Tis True Among Fields And Woods I Sing, Aloof From Cities--that My Poor Strains Were Born, Like The Simple Flowers You Bring, In English Meadows And English Lanes.

No Verse Which Is Unmusical Or Obscure Can Be Regarded As Poetry Whatever Other Qualities It May Possess.

Life Seems Like A Haunted Wood, Where We Tremble And Crouch And Cry.

Falling Stars Are High Examples Sent To Warn, Not Lure. Gross Fancy Says They Are Substantial Meteors; But That Is Not So. They Are The Merest Phantasies Of Night, When She's Asleep, And, Dimly Visited By Past Effects, She Dreams Of Lucifer Hurled Out Of Heaven.

Public Opinion Is No More Than This: What People Think That Other People Think.