Conceit Is To Nature What

To Happy Convents, Bosomed Deep In Vines, Where Slumber Abbots, Purple As Their Wines.

Ye Flowers That Drop, Forsaken By The Spring, Ye Birds That, Left By Summer, Cease To Sing, Ye Trees That Fade, When Autumn Heats Remove, Say, Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

See Plastic Nature Working To This End, The Single Atoms Each To Other Tend, Attract, Attracted To, The Next In Place Form'd And Impell'd Its Neighbor To Embrace.

On Life's Vast Ocean Diversely We Sail. Reasons The Card, But Passion The Gale.

Slave To No Sect, Who Takes No Private Road, But Looks Through Nature Up To Nature's God.