Nature’s Grace Behold how rich the evening sky, Hangs low upon the purple hill. The nightingale is heard so nigh, The theatre of hope to fill.

O hast thou seen, O hast thou heard, The flowers that bloom at dusk’s decay? And when the lark and nightingale Are soft to greet the sun-dried day?

And in those dreams of beauty rare, How deep and wide the lost refrain, Let all who wander seek again, Sweet Nature’s grace again in vain.

• Christina Rossetti