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
Never
Kings
Deceiving
Summed
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

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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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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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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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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 incessant labours see / Crowned from some single herb or tree.
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Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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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. . . .
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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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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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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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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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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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
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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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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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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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Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns
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