Quote

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.

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
Running
Balls
Tear
Cannot
Thus
Sweetness
Stills
Sun
Pleasures
Still
Tears
Gates
Make
Strength
Rough
Life
Stand
Iron
Pleasure
Roll
Though
Ball
Strife

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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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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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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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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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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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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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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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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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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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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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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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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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