Oh How much more of light makes man's eyes see,
Thy mother nature harmed by just thy selves
Auld ocean once was clean, messed up by thee
The trees decreased to make sofas and shelves
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.