I wandered lonely as a cloud.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
Therefore, let the moon shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the misty-mountain winds be free to blow against thee.
Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead, Nor all asleep; in his extreme old age: His body was bent double, feet and head Coming together in their pilgrimage; As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Of sickness felt by him in times long past, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting...