So many, and so many, and such glee. - John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

Nada es estable en el mundo. El tumulto es vuestra única música.