The stars are mansions built by Nature’s hand

— by William Wordsworth

The stars are mansions built by Nature’s hand, And, haply, there the spirits of the blest Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest; Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand, A habitation marvelously planned, For life to occupy in love and rest; All that we see is dome, or vault, or nest, Or fortress, reared at Nature’s sage command. Glad thought for every season! but the Spring Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart, ’Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring; And while the youthful year’s prolific art— Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower—was fashioning Abodes where self-disturbance hath no part.