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.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns

What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run

He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.

So much one man can do that does both act and know.