from Shelley's Ode to the West Wind

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"Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

will take from both a deep autumnal tone
sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,
my spirit. Be thou me, impetuous one!"

"Be through my lips to unawakened earth the trumpet of prophecy, O Wind:
if Winter comes can Spring be far behind?"

Percy Bysshe Shelley: Ode to the West Wind