In gardens where the lilies bloom, A gentle fragrance fills the air. With tender petals, nature’s room, A peace enveloping everywhere. Beneath the boughs of ancient trees, The whisper of the winds shall speak, Of all the joys that love can tease, In harmony, the soft and meek. For every blossom tells a tale, Of seasons past, of skies so bright, And with each breath, like a sail, We drift through nature’s pure delight.

• Elizabeth Barrett Browning