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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.

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
World
Rubies
Lady
Crime
Enough
Time

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Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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Therefore the love which us doth bind, But fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid While all flow'rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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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.
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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Though I carry always some ill-nature about me, yet it is, I hope, no more than is in this world necessary for a preservative.
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How vainly men themselves amaze, / To win the palm, the oak, or bays / And their incessant labours see / Crowned from some single herb or tree.
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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
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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.
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness Lady were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges'side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood.
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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
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My mind was once the true survey Of all these meadows fresh and gay And in the greenness of the grass Did see its hopes as in a glass.
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