O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
John MiltonSo sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
John MiltonOur torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.
John Milton