Quote

And now, when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a chaplet thence to weave As never yet the King of Glory wore, Alas! I find the serpent old, That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold With wreaths of fame and interest.

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
Thinking
Fame
Breast
Weave
Flower
Alas
Disguised
Glory
Breasts
Fold
Rich
Store
Serpent
Twining
Interest
Stores
Deceive
Speckled
Doe
Flowers
Folds
Thence
Find
King
Wore
Wreaths
Never
Kings
Deceiving
Summed

More quotes by Andrew Marvell

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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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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.
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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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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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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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What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
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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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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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My mind was once the true survey Of all these meadows fresh and gay And in the greenness of the grass Did see its hopes as in a glass.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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Therefore the love which us doth bind, But fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.
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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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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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