There is a garden in the west, And there is room enough for all: A bed of yellow daffodils, A patch of lilacs, and the red Poppies whisper all their fall. They cling to stones, in silence seen. For beauty needs not a grand hall; Though birds awake upon the green, Their notes doth trace across the wall.

Every child that’s nigh a home, They grant themselves a wild repose, In fields they walk—no need to roam From that enchanted bed of grass—the rose Abundant bloomers in their dreams. Oh, see the morning sun arise! The flowers of love release their sighs;

• John Keats