Lewis Carroll Quote

I love the stillness of the wood; I love the music of the rill:I love the couch in pensive modUpon some silent hill. Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees, The silver-crested ripples pass; and, like a mimic brook, the breezeWhispers among the grass. Here from the world I win release, Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude, Break into mar the holy peace Of this great solitude. Here may the silent tears I weepLull the vested spirit into rest, As infants sob themselves to sleep Upon a mothers breast. But when the bitter hour is gone,And the keen throbbing pangs are still, Oh, sweetest then to couch aloneUpon some silent hill!To live in joys that once have been, To put the cold world out of sight,And deck life's drear and barren sceneWith hues of rainbow-light. For what to man the gift of breath, If sorrow be his lot below; If all the day that ends in deathBe dark with clouds of woe?Shall the poor transport of an hourRepay long years of sore distress-The fragrance of a lonely flower Make glad the wilderness? Ye golden house of life's young spring, Of innocence, of love and truth!Bright, beyond all imagining, Thou fairy-dream of youth!I'd give all wealth that years have piled, The slow result of Life's decay,