My eyes make pictures, when they are shut

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw

And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversly fram'd, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.

And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack!

O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.