What Wondrous Life Is This I Lead!

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

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

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.

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

And Now, When I Have Summed Up All My Store, Thinking (so I Myself Deceive) So Rich A Chaplet Thence To Weave As Never Yet The King Of Glory Wore, Alas! I Find The Serpent Old, That, Twining In His Speckled Breast, About The Flowers Disguised Does Fold With Wreaths Of Fame And Interest.