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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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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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.
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My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.
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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
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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.
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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Now let us sport us while we may And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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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.
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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.
Andrew Marvell
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Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green glade ... Such was that happy garden-state.
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.
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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.
Andrew Marvell