I have a garden of my own,/ But so with roses overgrown,/ And lilies, that you would it guess/ To be a little wilderness. |
I would / Love you ten years before the flood, / And you should if you please refuse / Till the conversion of the Jews; / My vegetable love should grow / Vaster than empires and more slow. |
Music, the mosaic of the air |
Music, the mosaic of the air |
Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe. |
So much one man can do / That does both act and know. |
The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace |
The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace |
The inglorious arts of peace. |
The mind, that ocean where each kind / Does straight its own resemblance find; / Yet it creates, transcending these, / Far other worlds, and other seas, / Annihilating all that's made / To a green thought in a green shade. |
The nectarine, and curious peach, / Into my hands themselves do reach; / Stumbling on melons, as I pass, / Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. |
The tawny mowers enter next, / Who seem like Israelites to be / Walking on foot through a green sea. |
This delicious Solitude. |
Thus, though we cannot make our sun / Stand still, yet we will make him run. |
Time's winged chariot hurrying near. |