And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts

Though I Carry Always Some Ill-nature About Me, Yet It Is, I Hope, No More Than Is In This World Necessary For A Preservative.

Annihilating All That's Made, To A Green Thought In A Green Shade.

What Wondrous Life Is This I Lead! Ripe Apples Drop About My Head.

No White Nor Red Was Ever Seen So Am'rous As This Lovely Green. Fond Lovers, Cruel As Their Flame, Cut In These Trees Their Mistress' Name. Little, Alas, They Know Or Heed How Far These Beauties Hers Exceed! Fair Trees! Where S'e'er Your Barks I Wound, No Name Shall But Your Own Be Found.

My Vegetable Love Should Grow Vaster Than Empires, And More Slow.