Among The Blind The One-eyed Blinkard Reigns

Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; And Their Uncessant Labours See Crown'd From Some Single Herb Or Tree. Whose Short And Narrow Verged Shade Does Prudently Their Toils Upbraid; While All Flow'rs And All Trees Do Close To Weave The Garlands Of Repose.

My Love Is Of A Birth As Rare As 'tis, For Object, Strange And High; It Was Begotten By Despair Upon Impossibility.

The World In All Doth But Two Nations Bear- The Good, The Bad; And These Mixed Everywhere.

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