Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.

What occasions the greater part of the world's quarrels? Simply this: Two minds meet and do not understand each other in time enough to prevent any shock of surprise at the conduct of either party.

... the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown - the Air is our robe of state - the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it.

Stop and consider! life is but a day

You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.