Here lies the reed, and play unto the saxes, To, and fro, in nature’s throng, When storm and flood yield motion near the rocks; Sojourning in the mischief we’ve long ago sought.
Ecstasy falls from clouded skies, With sandy courts that weave and rise, And all this crafty gold; As the sleek tongues of mountains tongue; Let us all, where peace and garlic reign, Seek in our haste to seek again.
- John Keats