Quote

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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Andrew Marvell
Age: 57 †
Born: 1621
Born: March 31
Died: 1678
Died: August 16
Poet
Politician
Satirist
Writer
Andrew Marvell
States
Green
Gardening
Find
Pleasure
Worlds
Glade
Made
State
Creates
Annihilating
Kind
Happiness
Straight
Withdraws
Mind
Happy
Essentials
Transcending
World
Less
Sea
Meanwhile
Thought
Garden
Resemblance
Doe
Ocean
Seas

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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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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.
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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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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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
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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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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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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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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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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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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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