It may indeed be phantasy, when I essay to draw from all created things

Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings;

And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie,  lessons of love and earnest piety.

So let it be ; and if the wide world rings in mock of this belief, it brings  Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.

So will I build my altar in the fields,

And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,

And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields

Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee…

Samuel Taylor Coleridge