The hills tell each other, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy holy feet visit our clime. Come o'er the eastern hills and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath. Scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

-Blake,William
  Poetical Sketches,'To Spring'.

Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.

-Blake,William
  Songs of Experience,'Ah! Sunflower'.

Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? Must to thy motions lovers'seasons run? Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide Late schoolboys, and sour prentices, Go tell court-huntsmen that the King will ride, Call countryants to harvest offices; Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

-Donne,John
c.1595^1605  'The Sun Rising', collected in Songs and Sonnets (1633).