And Yonder All Before Us Lie Deserts

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

Let Us Roll All Our Strength, And All Our Sweetness, Up Into One Ball: And Tear Our Pleasures With Rough Strife, Through The Iron Gates Of Life. Thus, Though We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run.

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

How Could Such Sweet And Wholesome Hours Be Reckoned, But In Herbs And Flowers?

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.