Hence, in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea - William Wordsworth

One moment now may give us more
Than fifty years of reason;
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.

'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.

...and in thy voice I catch the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes.