I have tried to write Paradise
Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.
Let the Gods forgive what I
have made
Let those I love try to forgive
what I have made.
by John Vance Cheney
When lilies by the river fill with sun,
And banks with clematis are overrun;
When winds are weighed with fern-sweet from the hill,
And hawks wheel in the noontide hot and still;