Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flowers shall rise, And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

-Pope, Alexander
  Pastorals,'Summer', l.73^6.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

-Yeats,W(illiam) B(utler)
  'The Lake Isle of Innisfree', stanzas1^2. Collected in The Rose (1893).