Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

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.

This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To The Dutch By Just Propriety.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; And Their Uncessant Labours See Crown'd From Some Single Herb Or Tree. Whose Short And Narrow Verged Shade Does Prudently Their Toils Upbraid; While All Flow'rs And All Trees Do Close To Weave The Garlands Of Repose.

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

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