Quote

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.

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
Labour
Herb
Single
Amaze
Tree
Crowned
Winning
Incessant
Men
Herbs
Bays
Oaks
Upbraid
Palm
Vainly
Palms
Labours

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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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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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Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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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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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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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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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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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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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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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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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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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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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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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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