The drifting petal came to ground.
The laughter chimed its perfect round.
The broken syllable was ended.
And I, so certain and so friended,
How could I cloud, or how distress,
The heaven of your unconsciousness?

from Dining-Room Tea by Rupert Brooke

And I made a rural pen,
And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
Every child may joy to hear.

Song of Innocence – William Blake