Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground. The spirit of the forest moves. Alas! for those unconscious plants, They bloom and cease, but never see That, in all their whispers deep, The nightingale’s soft vocal sound Fails but only under overshadowed leaves.

Beyond the crown, the endless reach, Silent, where heaven touches earth, The skies that glisten, bright beneath, In stillness they grew along the hearth. And there the trees eternally sing, As glories rain upon the things unseen.

• John Keats