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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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Andrew Marvell
Age: 57 †
Born: 1621
Born: March 31
Died: 1678
Died: August 16
Poet
Politician
Satirist
Writer
Andrew Marvell
Mean
Memorable
Trying
Edge
Edges
Scene
Common
Upon
Eye
Nothing
Keener

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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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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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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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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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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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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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Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness Lady were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges'side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood.
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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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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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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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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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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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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
Andrew Marvell
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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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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
Andrew Marvell
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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
Andrew Marvell
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Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
Andrew Marvell