Music, The Mosaic Of The

Among The Blind The One-eyed Blinkard Reigns

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.

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

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.

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