But At My Back I

Had It Lived Long, Is Would Have Been Lilies Without, Roses Within.

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

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.

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

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