Among The Blind The One-eyed Blinkard Reigns

I Have A Garden Of My Own, But So With Roses Overgrown, And Lilies, That You Would It Guess To Be A Little Wilderness.

And All The Way, To Guide Their Chime, With Falling Oars They Kept Their Time.

My Mind Was Once The True Survey Of All These Meadows Fresh And Gay; And In The Greenness Of The Grass Did See Its Hopes As In A Glass.

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime.

No White Nor Red Was Ever Seen So Am'rous As This Lovely Green. Fond Lovers, Cruel As Their Flame, Cut In These Trees Their Mistress' Name. Little, Alas, They Know Or Heed How Far These Beauties Hers Exceed! Fair Trees! Where S'e'er Your Barks I Wound, No Name Shall But Your Own Be Found.