There is no title to these two:- I like a fire of wood; there is a kind Of artless poetry in all its ways: When first 'tis lighted, how it roars and plays, And sways to every breath its flames, refined By fancy to some shape by life confined.
"Afoot in England"
W.H. Hudson
Fancy, which sometimes sways so much and is swayed by so little, and which sometimes, again, is so hard to sway, and moves so little when it is swayed; whose ways have a method of their own, but are not as our ways-fancy, lies on the extreme borderland of the realm within which the writs of our thoughts run, and extends into that unseen world wherein they have no jurisdiction.
"Luck or Cunning?"
Samuel Butler
It cracks and snaps; he shakes it, and gently it sways, bending its elastic top till it touches the ground before the stem has left its hold on Mother Earth.
"Two Years in Oregon"
Wallis Nash