Towns can be trusted to corrupt themselves. - Alfred Austin

Where in the lily lurks the mind,
Where in the rose discern the soul? More mindless still, stream, pasture, lake;
The mountains yet more heartless seem. […] It is their silence that appals,
Their aspect motionless that awes,
When searching spirit vainly calls
On the effect to bare the Cause.

Imagination should
A reconciler, not a rebel, be,
To teach the heart of man to apprehend
Nature's vicissitudes, and bear his own,
With sympathetic fancy.

And Clara dies that Claribel may dance.