The work under our labour grows, Luxurious by restraint.
They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.
The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.
Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.