As though a rose should shut and be a bud again. - John Keats

O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

I feel more and more every day, as my imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone but in a thousand worlds.