Of earth they wrote it on; unless perchance
From riot-running nature’s overgrowth
Of swarming vegetation, peeps some scarce
Decypherable monument, which yet,
To those who find the key, perchance has told
Stories of men, more mighty men, of old,
Or of the gods themselves who walk’d the world
When with the dews of first creation wet.
Cipr. Oh knowledge from the fountain freshly drawn
Without the tedious go-between of books!