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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

Andrew Marvell

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Andrew Marvell
Age: 57 †
Born: 1621
Born: March 31
Died: 1678
Died: August 16
Poet
Politician
Satirist
Writer
Andrew Marvell
Near
Chariot
Hear
Chariots
Winged
Back
Hurrying
Always
Mistress
Time
Witty
Classic
Humorous

More quotes by Andrew Marvell

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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
Andrew Marvell
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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
Andrew Marvell
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The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
Andrew Marvell
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See how the Orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, Yet careless of its mansion new For the clear region where 'twas born Round in its self encloses: And in its little globes extent, Frames as it can its native element.
Andrew Marvell
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Like the vain curlings of the watery maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise, So Man, declining always, disappears In the weak circles of increasing years And his short tumults of themselves compose, While flowing Time above his head does close.
Andrew Marvell
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
Andrew Marvell
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
Andrew Marvell
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
Andrew Marvell
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I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.
Andrew Marvell
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
Andrew Marvell
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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Andrew Marvell
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
Andrew Marvell
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Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball: And tear our pleasures with rough strife, Through the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Andrew Marvell
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No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! where s'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.
Andrew Marvell
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And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.
Andrew Marvell
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As lines, so loves oblique, may well Themselves in every angle greet But ours, so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
Andrew Marvell
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
Andrew Marvell
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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Andrew Marvell
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
Andrew Marvell
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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
Andrew Marvell