There is sweet music here that softer falls
    Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
  Or night-dews on still waters between walls
    Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
  Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
    Than tir'd eyelids upon tirèd eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
        Here are cool mosses deep,
        And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
  And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.