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.

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

How vainly men themselves amaze, / To win the palm, the oak, or bays; / And their incessant labours see / Crowned from some single herb or tree.

Music, the mosaic of the air.

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

And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

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