Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have

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.

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

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

Gather The Flowers, But Spare The Buds.

Art Indeed Is Long, But Life Is Short.