This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To

My Mind Was Once The True Survey Of All These Meadows Fresh And Gay; And In The Greenness Of The Grass Did See Its Hopes As In A Glass.

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

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze, / To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; / And Their Incessant Labours See / Crowned From Some Single Herb Or Tree.

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

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime.