I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.
A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.
It flows through old hushed Egypt and its sands, Like some grave mighty thought threading a dream, And times and things, as in that vision, seem Keeping along it their eternal stands.
Many birds and beasts are...as fit to go to Heaven as many human beings - people who talk of their seats there with as much confidence as if they had booked them at a box office.
With spots of sunny openings, and with nooks To lie and read in, sloping into brooks.
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