To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

— Blake, from “Auguries of Innocence”
@
By the margin, willow veil’d
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed,
Down to towered Camelot.

— Tennyson, from “The Lady Of Shallot”
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Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

— Yeats, from “Sailing To Byzantium”
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This darksome burn, horseback brown
His rollrock highroad roaring down
In coop and in comb, the fleece of his foam
Flutes, and low to the lake falls home.
— Hopkins, from “Inversnaid”