Annihilating All That's Made, To A Green

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

And All The Way, To Guide Their Chime, With Falling Oars They Kept Their Time.

Like The Vain Curlings Of The Watery Maze, Which In Smooth Streams A Sinking Weight Does Raise, So Man, Declining Always, Disappears In The Weak Circles Of Increasing Years; And His Short Tumults Of Themselves Compose, While Flowing Time Above His Head Does Close.

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.