This Indigested Vomit Of The

My Love Is Of A Birth As Rare As 'tis, For Object, Strange And High; It Was Begotten By Despair Upon Impossibility.

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.

Art Indeed Is Long, But Life Is Short.

Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

Twas Beyond A Mortal's Share To Wander Solitary There: Two Paradises 'twere In One To Live In Paradise Alone.