Art Indeed Is Long, But Life Is

My Mind Was Once The True Survey Of All These Meadows Fresh And Gay; And In The Greenness Of The Grass Did See Its Hopes As In A Glass.

Casting The Body's Vest Aside, My Soul Into The Boughs Does Glide.

Thus, Though We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run

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

No White Nor Red Was Ever Seen So Am'rous As This Lovely Green. Fond Lovers, Cruel As Their Flame, Cut In These Trees Their Mistress' Name. Little, Alas, They Know Or Heed How Far These Beauties Hers Exceed! Fair Trees! Where S'e'er Your Barks I Wound, No Name Shall But Your Own Be Found.