And in the midst of this wide quietness

With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,

With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,

With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,

Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:

And there shall be for thee all soft delight

A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,

("BARDS OF PASSION AND OF MIRTH")