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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.

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
Drive
Fate
Doe
Always
Betwixt
Wedges
Iron
Crowds

More quotes by Andrew Marvell

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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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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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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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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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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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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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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
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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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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Andrew Marvell
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
Andrew Marvell
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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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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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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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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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