Annihilating All That's Made, To

Meanwhile The Mind, From Pleasure Less, Withdraws Into Its Happiness; The Mind, That Ocean Where Each Kind Does Straight Its Own Resemblance Find; Yet It Creates, Transcending These, Far Other Worlds, And Other Seas; Annihilating All That's Made To A Green Thought In A Green Glade ... Such Was That Happy Garden-state.

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

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

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

Ye Country Comets, That Portend No War, Nor Prince's Funeral, Shining Unto No Higher End Than To Presage The Grasses Fall. . . .