Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvell
Andrew Marvellwas an English metaphysical poet, satirist and politician who sat in the House of Commons at various times between 1659 and 1678. During the Commonwealth period he was a colleague and friend of John Milton. His poems range from the love-song "To His Coy Mistress", to evocations of an aristocratic country house and garden in "Upon Appleton House" and "The Garden", the political address "An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland", and the later personal and political satires...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth31 March 1621
See how the Orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, Yet careless of its mansion new; For the clear region where 'twas born Round in its self encloses: And in its little globes extent, Frames as it can its native element.
What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.
The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow;
Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.
And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
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, ...
Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.
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.
How fit he is to sway That can so well obey.
Twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one To live in paradise alone.
Ye living lamps, by whose dear light The nightingale does sit so late; And studying all the summer night, Her matchless songs does meditate.
Ye living lamps, by whose dear lightThe nightingale does sit so late;And studying all the summer night,Her matchless songs does meditate.