So Much One Man Can

Ye Country Comets, That Portend No War, Nor Prince's Funeral, Shining Unto No Higher End Than To Presage The Grasses Fall. . . .

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.

But At My Back I Always Hear Time's Winged Chariot Hurrying Near.

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.

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