And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts

My Love Is Of A Birth As Rare As 'tis, For Object, Strange And High; It Was Begotten By Despair Upon Impossibility.

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.

Twas Beyond A Mortal's Share To Wander Solitary There: Two Paradises 'twere In One To Live In Paradise Alone.

As Lines, So Loves Oblique, May Well Themselves In Every Angle Greet; But Ours, So Truly Parallel, Though Infinite, Can Never Meet.

He Nothing Common Did, Or Mean, / Upon That Memorable Scene, / But With His Keener Eye / The Axe's Edge Did Try.