Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.
But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high; It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.
Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapped power.