The castle, the river, murmur the stillness;
The grass, the trees, deepen the green haze;
Birds lift, never quite ready for parting.

Here as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew

– Oliver Goldsmith

I am tying up all my love in this,
With all its hopes and fears,
With all its anguish and all its bliss,
And its hours as heavy as years.

— James Thomson