A lonely impulse of delight

Things thought too long can be no longer thought, For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted out.

Everything in nature is resurrection.

It's certain there are trout somewhere - And maybe I shall take a trout - but I do not seem to care.

I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.

Life is a journey up a spiral staircase; as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up; as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive; we go both round and upward.