Emboldening to despair
Whate'er the sage disowns.

Delightful thrills against the panting heart
Fame's silver voice--and immortality
Is a great thought....
But sweeter, fairer, more delightful, 'tis
On a friend's arm to know oneself a friend....
O were ye here, who love me though afar ...
How would we build us huts of friendship, here
Together dwell for ever.

This is of Fredensborg on an August day:

Here, too, did Nature tarry, when her hand
Pour'd living beauty over dale and hill,
And to adorn this pleasant land
Long time she lingered and stood still....
The lake how tranquil! From its level brim
The shore swells gently, wooded o'er with green,
And buries in its verdure dim
The lustre of the summer e'en....

The inner and outer life are closely blended in _The Early Grave_:

Welcome, O silver moon,
Fair still companion of the night!
Friend of the pensive, flee not soon;
Thou stayest, and the clouds pass light.