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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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Andrew Marvell
Age: 57 †
Born: 1621
Born: March 31
Died: 1678
Died: August 16
Poet
Politician
Satirist
Writer
Andrew Marvell
Make
Thus
Sun
Stand
Though
Running
Cannot
Stills
Still

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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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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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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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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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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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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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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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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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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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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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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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Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
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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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