Beauty draws us with a single hair.

Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

Wit and judgment often are at strife.

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain

All Nature is but art, unknown to thee All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; All discord, harmony not understood; All partial evil, universal good.

Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.

chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd.