I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not - Lord Byron

She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth,
And of the folly of all prudish fears,
Victorious virtue, and domestic truth,
And then of Don Alfonso's fifty years:
[...]
When people say, "I've told you fifty times,"
They mean to scold, and very often do:
When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes,"
They make you dread that they'll recite them too;
In gangs of fifty thieves commit their crimes:
At fifty love for love is rare, 'tis true,
But then, no doubt, it equally as true is,
A good deal may be bought for fifty louis.

It glides along the water looking blackly,
Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe,
Where none can make out what you say or do.

I came to realize clearly that the mind is no other than the Mountain and the Rivers and the great wide Earth, the Sun and the Moon and the Sky”.