She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight… - William Wordsworth

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good.

This son of his old age was yet more dear — Less from instinctive tenderness, the same
Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all — 145
Than that a child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts,
And stirrings of inquietude, when they
By tendency of nature needs must fail.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness.