Among the Ruins

Amidst the crumbling stones of old, Where ivy clings and tales are told, The whispers of the forest seen, In every shadow, calm and green.

The flowers bloom like sacred eyes, And stars peek through the midnight skies; The echoes of a gentle stream, Flow sweetly on, as in a dream.

Here, nature reclaims her throne, In solitude, I find my own; With birds that sing and winds that sigh, Embraced by earth, I long to lie.

• Philip Webb