I wept as I remembered how often you and I had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. – Callimachus

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it – e. e. (Edward Estlin) cummings

Ah tell me not that memory sheds gladness over the past; what is recalled by faded flowers save that they did not last? – Letitia Elizabeth Landon