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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
Made
Annihilating
Resemblance
Shade
Green
Tree
Thought

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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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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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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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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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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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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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Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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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 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.
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
Andrew Marvell