...tasting of Flora and country-green, Dance, Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains   My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains   One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,           But being too happy in thine happiness,     That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,           In some melodious plot   Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,     Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
:::John Keats
I think that perhaps today I experienced more true poetry than in the rest of my life. My day at the chateau de Fontainebleau was Jane Austen, John Keats, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Shakespeare all wrapped up into  dream-like felicity. After touring the massive castle, we lounged on the banks of the lake, listening to the serenade of chirping sparrows combined with lapping waves and gentle wind.
I think I agree with Rousseau. Nature is truly the best sort of repose. That, and good conversation with beautiful friends (and, of course, singing Beyonce to the swan we named Jay-Z as Rachel is doing in the above picture).