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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.

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
Resemblance
Shade
Green
Tree
Thought
Made
Annihilating

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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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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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He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.
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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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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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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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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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Music, the mosaic of the air.
Andrew Marvell
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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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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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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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Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .
Andrew Marvell
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
Andrew Marvell
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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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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
Andrew Marvell