Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice. - William Wordsworth

Be mild, and cleave to gentle things,
thy glory and thy happiness be there.

And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much,
The self-sufficing power of solitude.

All things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops; — on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.