The winds are not at rest, they blow In wild, untrammeled freedom free, Through glades where sunlight falls in woe, And peace is an eternity.

I hear the murmur of the rills That dance beneath the boughs of trees, And every fountain’s joy distills Its grace upon the gentle breeze.

Oh, nature! thou art full of light, The clouds that float upon the sea, The tinted flowers that paint the sight, Are but a true reflection of thee!

• George Gordon Byron