These trees and stones are audible to me,
These idle flowers, that tremble in the wind,
I understand their faery syllables,
And all their sad significance.

– R. W. Emerson “The River”

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

– James Wright “A Blessing”

The night is chill, the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bbleak?
There is not wind enough in the air
To move away the ringlet curl
From the lovely lady’s cheek —
There is not wind enough to twirl
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

– S.T. Coleridge “Christabel”

Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

— S. T. Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”