THE GARDEN 



How vainly men themselves amaze, 

 To win the palm, the oak, or bayes ; 

 And their uncessant labours see 

 Crown'd from some single herb or tree,__ 

 Whose short and narrow-verged shade 

 Does prudently their toyles upbraid ; 

 While all the flow'rs 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 busie companies of men. 

 Your sacred plants, if here below, 

 Only among the plants will grow ; 

 Society is all but rude 

 To this delicious solitude. 



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 : 



