Northensky
I am concerned with your choice of poet. Surely the French should limit their poetry to surrendering (and maybe eating cheese). I personally enjoy Robert Browning but here is a little gem by William Blake (I have a shirt with sunflowers on).
Ah! sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller’s journey is done;
Where the youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire;
Where my sunflower wishes to go.
Edited: 08/04/2012 at 10:01