THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN
How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palmi the oaki or bays,
And their incessant labours see
Crown'd from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the flowers and trees do close
To weave the garlands of Repose.
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men;
Your sacred plansi if here below,
Only among the plants will grow;
Society is all but rude
Tot this delicious solitude.
No white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
Fond loversi cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name;
Little, alas, they know or heed
How far these beauties her exceed!