(from Hamlet, spoken by Hamlet)

« What a piece of work is a man ! how noble in reason !
how infinite in faculty ! in form and moving how
express and admirable ! in action how like an angel !
in apprehension how like a god ! the beauty of the
world ! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to me,
what is this quintessence of dust ?  »

Poems Volume II (1815) by William Wordsworth
The World is too much with us


The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.


The Secret
by Emily Dickinson

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.

Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.

There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies ?
How still the riddle lies !


The Skies can't keep their secret !
by Emily Dickinson

The Skies can't keep their secret !
They tell it to the Hills—
The Hills just tell the Orchards—
And they—the Daffodils !

A Bird—by chance—that goes that way—
Soft overhears the whole—
If I should bribe the little Bird—
Who knows but she would tell ?

I think I won't—however—
It's finer—not to know—
If Summer were an Axiom—
What sorcery had Snow ?

So keep your secret—Father !
I would not—if I could,
Know what the Sapphire Fellows, do,
In your new-fashioned world !