Open afresh your rounds of starry folds, Ye ardent Marigolds.

Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad.

What is more gentle than a wind is summer?

Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings

Health is my expected heaven.