“O Solitude!  If I must with thee dwell, let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings:  Climb with me the steep, nature’s observatory, whence the dell, in flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell, may seem a span; let me thy vigils keep ‘mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer’s swift leap startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.  But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee, yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, whose words are images of thoughts refined, is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be almost the highest bliss of human-kind, when to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee”, by John Keats.

 

A mighty storm in the forest roared and rasped

A giant coast redwood painfully collapsed

It crushed, brought down other trees

Boughs and branches in their vicinities
 

A fall that thundered hollow from the hill

Commanded me to the safety of a cave behind the mill

Showed me to myself in my spirit I believe

Made the abysmal and secret desires lyrically reveal
 

At heart I possess the power of divine creatures

Contained in the boundaries of my living genesis

Since no god is allowed to transcend that which nature esteems

Once and for all perfection is limited in any shape a single soul fulfills
 

Le Quattro Stagioni, Vivaldi.

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