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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.

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
Without
Long
Would
Lilies
Roses
Rose
Flower
Lived
Within

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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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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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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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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.
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
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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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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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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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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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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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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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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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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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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
Andrew Marvell
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
Andrew Marvell
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
Andrew Marvell