Andrew Marvell Quotes

So much one man can do that does both act and know.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Thus, while we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns

The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.

I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness.

And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapped power.

No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! where s'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?

Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.

Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.

As lines, so loves oblique, may well Themselves in every angle greet; But ours, so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.

Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run

Music, the mosaic of the air.

Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

Though I carry always some ill-nature about me, yet it is, I hope, no more than is in this world necessary for a preservative.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace.

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.

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.

Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.

My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.

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.

He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.

What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.

My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high; It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.