Andrew Marvell(1621–1678)
The Garden
H o w vainly m e n t h e m s e l v e s a m a z e 0perplex
To w i n the palm, t h e oak, or bays,1
A n d their i n c e s s a n t 0 labors s e eunceasing
C r o w n e d f r o m s o m e single herb, or tree,
W h o s e short and narrow-verged2 s h a d e
D o e s prudently their toils upbraid;
W h i l e all flowers and all trees do c l o s e 0join
To w e a v e t h e garlands of repose!
Fair Q u i e t , have I f o u n d t h e e here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear
M i s t a k e n long, I s o u g h t y o u t h e n
In b u s y c o m p a n i e s of m e n .
Your sacred plants, if here b e l o w ,cuttings
O n l y a m o n g t h e plants will grow;
S o c i e t y is all but rudemerely / barbarous
To this d e l i c i o u s solitude.compared to
N o w h i t e nor red3 w a s ever s e e n
So a m o r o u s as this lovely green.
F o n d lovers, cruel as their flame,foolish
C u t in t h e s e trees their mistress' n a m e : 4
Little, alas, t h e y k n o w or h e e d
H o w far t h e s e b e a u t i e s hers exceed!
Fair trees, w h e r e s o e ' e r your barks I w o u n d ,
N o n a m e shall but your o w n b e f o u n d .
When we have run our passion's heat,course
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race:5
Apollo hunted Daphne so,
Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
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 0 peachexquisite
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons,6 as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,7
Withdraws into its happiness;
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight 0 its own resemblance find;8 immediately
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds and other seas,
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest9 aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide:
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets 0 and combs its silver wings,preens
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various 0 light.iridescent
Such was that happy garden-state,
While man there walked without a mate:
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!1
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises 'twere in one
To live in paradise alone.2
H o w well the skillful gardener drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial3 n e w ,
W h e r e , f r o m above, the milder s u n
D o e s t h r o u g h a fragrant zodiac run;
A n d as it works, th' industrious b e e
C o m p u t e s its t i m e 4 as well as we!
H o w c o u l d s u c h s w e e t and w h o l e s o m e h o u r s
Be r e c k o n e d but w i t h herbs and flowers