These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration
- Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, William Wordsworth
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.
- The Autumn, Elizabeth Barrett Browning
That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me. - Adriana, Midnight in Paris
I have resigned myself to fall. It’s official, I love it.
“Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear/And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;/ I will luve thee still, my dear/ While the sands o’ life shall run” (A Red Red Rose, Robert Burns)