But he who seeks the flowers of truth, Must quit the garden for the field. - Lord Byron

I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may
grow, So I behold them not

Some have accused me of a strange design
Against the creed and morals of this land,
And trace it in this poem every line:
I don't pretend that I quite understand
My meaning when I would be very fine;
But the fact is that I have nothing planned...

The humblest individual under heaven, Than might suffice a moderate century through. I knew that nought was lasting, but now even Change grows too changeable without being new.