For ever growing; where the common eye
Can but the bare and rocky bed descry,
There Science loves to trace her tribes minute,
The juiceless foliage, and the tasteless fruit;
There she perceives them round the surface creep,
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And, while they meet, their due distinction keep,
Mix'd but not blended; each its name retains,
And these are Nature's ever-during stains.
And would'st thou, artist, with thy tints and brush,