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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

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
Deserts
Hurrying
Vast
Desert
Eternity
Lying
Time
Yonder
Chariots

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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
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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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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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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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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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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.
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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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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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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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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
Andrew Marvell
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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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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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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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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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