Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

How Fit He Is To Sway That Can So Well Obey.

Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have Been Lilies Without, Roses Within.

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.

See How The Orient Dew, Shed From The Bosom Of The Morn Into The Blowing Roses, Yet Careless Of Its Mansion New; For The Clear Region Where 'twas Born Round In Its Self Encloses: And In Its Little Globes Extent, Frames As It Can Its Native Element.