Midwinter Spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
Under the tropic is our language spoke,And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
Edmund WallerBeside The grim old sea-king sits his bride, A sun-land blossom, rudely torn From tropic forests to be worn Above as stern a breast as e'er Stood king at sea or anywhere.
joaquin miller