The cry of the heart, bringing a new day, Across the glistening lake, soft with dew, Is like the call that sweeps the hills away, From which all joy and weariness renew. Cool winds caress the trees, in their embrace, And whisper softly to the swaying grass; The sun climbs high, with golden rays to chase, And orange petals of the flowers amass. This forest deep, where quiet secrets lie, Holds moments still, enveloped in the hush. I walk through nature, letting time pass by, And feel the gentle spirit in the rush. Nature speaks softly—in her voice, I’m found, In every sight and sound, pure solace abound.

• Elizabeth Barrett Browning