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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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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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My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
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Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.
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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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So much one man can do that does both act and know.
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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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Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
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Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
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But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
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Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
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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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How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
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Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run
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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 world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad and these mixed everywhere.
Andrew Marvell
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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell
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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.
Andrew Marvell