Andrew Marvell(1621–1678)

The Coronet

W h e n for the thorns with w h i c h I long, too long,

W i t h m a n y a piercing w o u n d ,

M y Savior's h e a d have c r o w n e d ,

I s e e k w i t h garlands2 to redress that wrong;

T h r o u g h every garden, every m e a d , 0meadow

I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers)

Dismantling all the fragrant towers 0high headdresses

That o n c e adorned m y shepherdess's head.

A n d n o w w h e n I have s u m m e d up all my store,

T h i n k i n g (so I myself deceive)

So rich a c h a p l e t 0 t h e n c e to w e a v egarland

As never yet the king of glory3 wore;

Alas I find t h e serpent old4

That, t w i n i n g in his s p e c k l e d breast,

A b o u t t h e flowers disguised d o e s fold,

W i t h w r e a t h s 0 of f a m e a n d interest.5coils

Ah, foolish man, that wouldst debase with them,

And mortal glory, heaven's diadem! 0crown

But T h o u 6 w h o only couldst t h e serpent tame,

Either his slippery knots at o n c e untie,

A n d d i s e n t a n g l e all his w i n d i n g snare;

Or shatter too with him my curious 0 frame, 0elaborate / structure

And let these 0 wither, so that he may die,poetic flowers

Though set with skill and chosen out with care,

That they, w h i l e T h o u on both their spoils dost tread,

M a y c r o w n T h y feet, that c o u l d not c r o w n T h y head.7