It may indeed be fantasy 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 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 I will 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,
Thee only God! and thou shall not despise Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.
To Nature, Samuel Taylor Coleridge
