There is a vale which none hath seen, <br />Where foot of man has never been, <br />Such as here lives with toil and strife, <br />An anxious and a sinful life. <br />There every virtue has its birth, <br />Ere it descends upon the earth, <br />And thither every deed returns, <br />Which in the generous bosom burns. <br /> <br />There love is warm, and youth is young, <br />And poetry is yet unsung. <br />For Virtue still adventures there, <br />And freely breathes her native air. <br /> <br />And ever, if you hearken well, <br />You still may hear its vesper bell, <br />And tread of high-souled men go by, <br />Their thoughts conversing with the sky.<br /><br />Henry David Thoreau<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rumors-from-an-aeolian-harp/
