To Hope When by my solitary hearth I sit, And brood upon the old, and happy days, Which I have had in my sweet childhood’s time, The stories sung by nature’s mortal gaze, And how I loved them then—and on each day, They came as life, with voices strong and bright.

To see the beauty, oh hope! care not, Whether the world wishes it should cease: What plant we sow, or roll as dreams undone, Nature still rings, as peace.

• John Keats