The day was sweeter than honey and the honey-comb
The day have trampled me like armed men
The dead past flew away over the fens like a flight of wild swans
The deep like one black maelstrom round her whirls
The deepening east like a scarlet poppy burnt
The desolate rocky hills rolled like a solid wave along the horizon
The dome of heaven is like one drop of dew
The dreams of poets come like music heard at evening from the depth of some enchanted forest
The eagerness faded from his eyes, leaving them cold as a winter sky after sunset
The earth was like a frying-pan, or some such hissing matter