From the lone shieling of the misty island Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas – Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, And we in dreams behold the Hebrides! Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand; But we are exiles from our fathers' land.
Why do you rush through the fields in trains, Guessing so much and so much. Why do you flash through the flowery meads, Fat-head poet that nobody reads; And why do you know such a frightful lot About people in gloves and such? See Cornford 237:69.
Shall I, wasting in despair,Die because a woman’s fair?Or make pale my cheeks with care,’Cause another’s rosy are?Be she fairer than the day,Or the flowery meads in May,If she be not so to me,What care I how fair she be?george wither
So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains, Wherein rude winter bound her veins; So grows both stream and source of price, That lately fettered were with ice. So naked trees get crispèd heads, And coloured coats the roughest meads, And all get vigour, youth and spright, That are but looked on by his light.Ben Jonson
I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.john keats
And rest at last where souls unbodied dwell, In ever-flowing meads of Asphodel.