Drowse on, soft flowers of quiet afternoons,—
The breezes sleep beneath your lulling spell;
In dreamy silence all the garden swoons,
Save where the lily’s aromatic bell
Is murmurous with one low-humming bee,
As oozy honey-drops are pilfered by that filcher wee.

And now is gone the dreamy afternoon,—
The sun has sunk below yon western height;
The pallid silver of the harvest-moon
Floods all the garden with its soft, weird light.
The flowers long since have told their dewy beads,
And naught is heard except the frogs’ small choir in distant meads.

From "The Old-Fashioned Garden" by John Russell Hayes

This little fellow was too cute to pass up: Welcome to my Abode