It was a little budding rose, Round like a fairy globe, And shyly did its leaves unclose Hid in their mossy robe, But sweet was the slight and spicy smell It breathed from its heart invisible.
~Emily Brontë, A Little Budding Rose
Alive without breath, As cold as death; Never thirsty, ever drinking, All in mail never clinking. ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Had we some mystic boat with pearly oar
And wizard pilot,
To guide us safely by the siren shore
And cloudy islet,
We might embark and reach that shining portal
Beyond which linger dreams and joys immortal.