Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life;

Dear as these eyes, that weep in fondness o'er thee.

Thomas Otway (1651-1685): Venice Preserved. Act v. Sc. 1.

'T is lack of kindly warmth.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Timon of Athens. Act ii. Sc. 2.

I remember, I remember

How my childhood fleeted by,—

The mirth of its December

And the warmth of its July.

W M Praed (1802-1839): I remember, I remember.

A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog

Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old,

Where armies whole have sunk: the parching air

Burns frore, and cold performs th' effect of fire.

Thither by harpy-footed Furies hal'd,

At certain revolutions all the damn'd

Are brought, and feel by turns the bitter change

Of fierce extremes,—extremes by change more fierce;

From beds of raging fire to starve in ice

Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine

Immovable, infix'd, and frozen round,

Periods of time; thence hurried back to fire.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 592.