"This river does not see the naked sky, Till it begins to progress silverly Around the western border of the wood, Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood Seems at the distance like a crescent moon: And in that nook, the very pride of June, Had I been used to pass my weary eves; The rather for the sun unwilling leaves So dear a picture of his sovereign power, And I could witness his most kingly hour, When he doth lighten up the golden reins, And paces leisurely down amber plains His snorting four.

July 9, 2015, “An Observational Study of Honey Bee Colony Winter Losses and Their Association with Varroa destructor, Neonicotinoids and Other Risk Factors”, in PLOS ONE, DOI:10.1371/journal.pone.0131611:

I was rather taken aback by his angry reply.

Appropriately enough for a crowd hung up on the fashions and music of the past, the nostalgizing began almost immediately.