I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers; From the seas and the streams;; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid; In their noonday dreams; From my wings are shaken the dews that waken; The sweet buds every one; When rocked to rest on their mother's breast; As she dances about the sun; Percy Bysshe Shelley;
A sensitive plant in a garden grew; And the young winds fed it with silver dew; And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light; and closed them beneath the kisses of night;
__Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant," 1820
Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear: it is there most pure, perfect, and unlimited where its votaries live in confidence, equality and unreserve.
__Percy Bysshe Shelley