No thing engraces the day like gentleness.
I may see gaudy noons and flaming mornings
And gorgeous eves, but none of these
Appeal like some wood-thatched bower where
A lone bird mourned, or perhaps a hedge
Whence some song burst, or still sunlight Scratched by blossoms.

No thing so engraces day as gentleness,
Quietude is the holy mantle
In which I would clothe. I may set me apart
In seclusion with silence as my companion,
And charm fays to speak, and dream dreams,
And forget that the roadway hath dust upon it,
Remembering only the flower-fringed borders
And the leafy dell.