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This indigested vomit of the Sea,Fell to the Dutch by Just Propriety.

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
Vomit
Propriety
Dutch
Fell
Sea

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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?
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And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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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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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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Music, the mosaic of the air.
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
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Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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Art indeed is long, but life is short.
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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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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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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
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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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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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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
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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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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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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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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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