I Do Not Think That Skies And Meadows Are Moral, Or That The Fixture Of A Star Comes Of A Quiet Spirit, Or That Trees Have Wisdom In Their Windless Silences. Yet These Are Things Invested In My Mood With Constancy, And Peace, And Fortitude, That In My Troubled Season I Can Cry Upon The Wide Composure Of The Sky, And Envy Fields, And Wish That I Might Be As Little Daunted As A Star Or Tree.