Language
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
The desire of the moth for the star,
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew.
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is.
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
A widow bird sat mourning for her love
That orbèd maiden, with white fire laden,
A pardlike Spirit, beautiful and swift.
Júlio César
His life was gentle, and the elements
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder.
Walter Scott
If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright,
Delmore Schwartz
The heavy bear who goes with me,
John Ruskin
Mountains are the beginning and the end of all natural scenery.
Christina Rossetti
In the bleak mid-winter
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Arthur Rimbaud
Ô saisons, ô châteaux!
… Je me suis baigné dans le Poème
François Rabelais
Nature abhors a vacuum.
