And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
As lines, so loves oblique, may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours, so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.