I will clamber through the clouds and exist. - John Keats

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth.
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth.

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
Made purple riot.

To one who has been long in city pent,
’Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven.