A place of dream, the Holy Land

Ah, happy world, where all things live Creatures of one great law, indeed; Bound by strong roots, the splendid flower,— Swept by great seas, the drifting seed!

He is one of those people to whom you must allow moods,—when their sun shines, dance,—and when their vapors rise, sit in the shadow.

Beauty vanishes like a vapor, Preach the men of musty morals.

The awful phantom of the hungry poor.

The sunn must lend his goulden beames, Soft windes their breath, green trees their shade, Sweete fields their flowers, cleare springs their streams, Ere such another smyle bee made.

Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry Why o'er the waves dost fly? O, rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice!