Oh, sweet content, that turns the labourer's sweat
  To tears of joy, and shines the roughest face;
How often have I sought you high and low,
  And found you still in some lone quiet place.

Here, in my room, when full of happy dreams,
  With no life heard beyond that merry sound
Of moths that on my lighted ceiling kiss
  Their shadows as they dance and dance around.

Or in a garden, on a summer's night
  When I have seen the dark and solemn air
Blink with the blind bat's wings, and heaven's bright face
  Twitch with the stars that shine in thousands there.