Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours,A nd are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
Lying down in the melting snow, there were times we regretted the summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, and the silken girls bringing sorbet. 
My candle burns at both ends, it will not last the night.
But Ah, my foes, and Oh, my friends, it gives a lovely light.
Once I'm sure there's nothing going on, I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
I think I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade
When all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils! 
