Fresh morning dew upon the grass, The sun, a radiant golden sphere, Whispers soft as breezes pass, Nature wakes, and all is clear. Birds, with songs of love in flight, Chase the shadows of the dawn, And in this splendor, pure delight, The world of dreams is gently drawn. Each moment wraps me in its grace, In summer’s warmth, I lose my strife, For in this quiet, sacred space, I find anew the art of life.

• Elizabeth Barrett Browning