Nature And Nature's Laws Lay Hid In

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confus'd.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing; Drink Deep, Or Taste Not The Pierian Spring.