In sleep I heard the northern gleams; The stars they were among my dreams; In sleep did I behold the skies - William Wordsworth

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!

I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.