Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have

Ye Country Comets, That Portend No War, Nor Prince's Funeral, Shining Unto No Higher End Than To Presage The Grasses Fall. . . .

Meanwhile The Mind, From Pleasure Less, Withdraws Into Its Happiness; 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 Glade ... Such Was That Happy Garden-state.

But At My Back I Always Hear Time's Winged Chariot Hurrying Near.

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

Casting The Body's Vest Aside, My Soul Into The Boughs Does Glide.