Look on that lovely foliage, like an Acanthus,
Which o'er a wall its graceful branches trails.
Look on those lovely flowers of purest white,
Which, near the pods that open, hang in harmony.
That little cord which binds each one about,
How it projects! proving that she who wrought it
Is very mistress of this art.
How well distributed are all these points!
See the equality of all those little buds
Which rise like many fair proportioned hills,