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Best Famous Andrew Marvell Poems

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by Andrew Marvell | |

To His Coy Mistress

  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, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd 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-preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
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 all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Ametas And Thestylis Making Hay-Ropes

Think'st Thou that this Love can stand,
Whilst Thou still dost say me nay?
Love unpaid does soon disband:
Love binds Love as Hay binds Hay.
Thestylis Think'st Thou that this Rope would twine If we both should turn one way? Where both parties so combine, Neither Love will twist nor Hay.
Ametas Thus you vain Excuses find, Which your selve and us delay: And Love tyes a Womans Mind Looser then with Ropes of Hay.
Thestylis What you cannot constant hope Must be taken as you may.
Ametas Then let's both lay by our Rope, And go kiss within the Hay.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Musics Empire

 First was the world as one great cymbal made, 
Where jarring winds to infant Nature played.
All music was a solitary sound, To hollow rocks and murm'ring fountains bound.
Jubal first made the wilder notes agree; And Jubal tuned music's Jubilee; He call'd the echoes from their sullen cell, And built the organ's city where they dwell.
Each sought a consort in that lovely place, And virgin trebles wed the manly bass.
From whence the progeny of numbers new Into harmonious colonies withdrew.
Some to the lute, some to the viol went, And others chose the cornet eloquent, These practicing the wind, and those the wire, To sing men's triumphs, or in Heaven's choir.
Then music, the mosaic of the air, Did of all these a solemn noise prepare; With which she gain'd the empire of the ear, Including all between the earth and sphere.
Victorious sounds! yet here your homage do Unto a gentler conqueror than you; Who though he flies the music of his praise, Would with you Heaven's Hallelujahs raise.

More great poems below...

by Andrew Marvell | |

To His Worthy Friend Doctor Witty Upon His Translation Of The Popular Errors

 Sit further, and make room for thine own fame,
Where just desert enrolles thy honour'd Name
The good Interpreter.
Some in this task Take of the Cypress vail, but leave a mask, Changing the Latine, but do more obscure That sence in English which was bright and pure.
So of Translators they are Authors grown, For ill Translators make the Book their own.
Others do strive with words and forced phrase To add such lustre, and so many rayes, That but to make the Vessel shining, they Much of the precious Metal rub away.
He is Translations thief that addeth more, As much as he that taketh from the Store Of the first Author.
Here he maketh blots That mends; and added beauties are but spots.
Caelia whose English doth more richly flow Then Tagus, purer then dissolved snow, And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she Now learns the tongues of France and Italy; But she is Caelia still: no other grace But her own smiles commend that lovely face; Her native beauty's not Italianated, Nor her chast mind into the French translated: Her thoughts are English, though her sparkling wit With other Language doth them fitly fit.
Translators learn of her: but stay I slide Down into Error with the Vulgar tide; Women must not teach here: the Doctor doth Stint them to Cawdles Almond-milk, and Broth.
Now I reform, and surely so will all Whose happy Eyes on thy Translation fall, I see the people hastning to thy Book, Liking themselves the worse the more they look, And so disliking, that they nothing see Now worth the liking, but thy Book and thee.
And (if I Judgement have) I censure right; For something guides my hand that I must write.
You have Translations statutes best fulfil'd.
That handling neither sully nor would guild

by Andrew Marvell | |

Edmundi Trotii Epitaphium

 Charissimo Filio
Edmundo Trotio
Posuimus Pater & Mater
Frustra superstites.
Legite Parentes, vanissimus hominum ordo, Figuli Filiorum, Substructores Hominum, Fartores Opum, Longi Speratores, Et nostro, si fas, sapite infortunio.
Fruit Edmundus Trottuis.
E quatuor masculae stirpis residuus, Statura justa, Forma virili, specie eximic, Medio juventutis Robore simul & Flore, Alpectu, In cessu, sermone juxta amabilis, Et siquid ultra Cineri pretium addit.
Honesta Diciplina domi imbutus, Peregre profectus Generosis Artibus Animum Et exercitiis Corpus firmaverat.
Circaeam Insulam, Scopulos Sirenum Praeternavigavit, Et in hoc naufragio morum & saeculi Solus perdiderat nihil, auxit plurimum.
Hinc erga Deum pietate, Erga nos Amore & Obsequio, Comitate erga Omnes, & intra se Modestia Insignis, & quantaevis fortunae capax: Delitiae Aequalium, Senum Plausus, Oculi Parentum, (nunc, ah, Lachrymae) In eo tandem peccavit quod mortalis.
Et fatali Pustularum morbo aspersus, Factus est (Ut verae Laudis Invidiam ficto Convitio levemus) Proditor Amicorum, Parricida Parentum, Familiae Spongia: Et Naturae invertens ordinem Nostri suique Contemptor, Mundi Desertor, defecit ad Deum.
Undecimo Augusti; Aerae Christae 1667.
Talis quum fuerit Calo non invidemus.

by Andrew Marvell | |

In Effigiem Oliveri Cromwell

 Haec est quae toties Inimicos Umbra fugavit,
At sub qua Cives Otia lenta terunt.
In eandem Reginae Sueciae transmissam Bellipotens Virgo, septem Regina Trionum.
Christina, Arctoi lucida stella Poli; Cernis quas merui dura sub Casside Rugas; Sicque Senex Armis impiger Ora fero; Invia Fatorum dum per Vestigia nitor, Exequor & Populi fortia Jussa Manu.
At tibi submittit frontem reverentior Umbra, Nec sunt hi Vultus Regibus usque truces.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Senec. Traged. Ex Thyeste Chor.2

ex Thyeste Chor.
Stet quicunque volet potens Aulae culmine lubrico &c.
Climb at Court for me that will Tottering favors Pinacle; All I seek is to lye still.
Settled in some secret Nest In calm Leisure let me rest; And far of the publick Stage Pass away my silent Age.
Thus when without noise, unknown, I have liv'd out all my span, I shall dye, without a groan, An old honest Country man.
Who expos'd to others Ey's, Into his own Heart ne'r pry's, Death to him's a Strange surprise

by Andrew Marvell | |

Epigramma in Duos montes Amosclivum Et Bilboreum

Cernis ut ingenti distinguant limite campum Montis Amos clivi Bilboreique juga! Ille stat indomitus turritis undisque saxis: Cingit huic laetum Fraximus alta Caput.
Illi petra minax rigidis cervicibus horret: Huic quatiunt viridis lenia colla jubas.
Fulcit Atlanteo Rupes ea vertice coelos: Collis at hic humeros subjicit Herculeos.
Hic ceu carceribus visum sylvaque coercet: Ille Oculos alter dum quasi meta trahit.
Ille Giganteum surgit ceu Pelion Ossa: Hic agit ut Pindi culmine Nympha choros.
Erectus, praeceps, salebrosus, & arduus ille: Aeclivis, placidus, mollis, amoenus hic est.
Dissimilis Domino coiit Natura sub uno; Farfaciaque tremunt sub ditione pares.
Dumque triumphanti terras perlabitur Axe, Praeteriens aequa stringit utrumque Rota.
Asper in adversos, facilis cedentibus idem; Ut credas Montes extimulasse suos.
Hi sunt Alcidae Borealis nempe Columnae, Quos medio scindit vallis opaca freto.
An potius longe sic prona cacumina nutant, Parnassus cupiant esse Maria tuus.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Upon An Eunuch; A Poet. Fragment

 Nec sterilem te crede; Licet, mulieribus exul,
Falcem virginiae nequeas immitere messi,
Et nostro peccare modo.
Tibi Fama perenne Praegnabit; rapiesque novem de monse Sorores; Et pariet modulos Echo repetita Nepotes.

by Andrew Marvell | |

The Picture Of Little T.C. In A Prospect Of Flowers

 See with what simplicity
This Nimph begins her golden daies!
In the green Grass she loves to lie,
And there with her fair Aspect tames
The Wilder flow'rs, and gives them names:
But only with the Roses playes;
And them does tell
What Colour best becomes them, and what Smell.
Who can foretel for what high cause This Darling of the Gods was born! Yet this is She whose chaster Laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe, See his Bow broke and Ensigns torn.
Happy, who can Appease this virtuous Enemy of Man! O then let me in time compound, And parly with those conquering Eyes; Ere they have try'd their force to wound, Ere, with their glancing wheels, they drive In Triumph over Hearts that strive, And them that yield but more despise.
Let me be laid, Where I may see thy Glories from some Shade.
Mean time, whilst every verdant thing It self does at thy Beauty charm, Reform the errours of the Spring; Make that the Tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair; And Roses of their thorns disarm: But most procure That Violets may a longer Age endure.
But O young beauty of the Woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flow'rs, Gather the Flow'rs, but spare the Buds; Lest Flora angry at thy crime, To kill her Infants in their prime, Do quickly make th' Example Yours; And, ere we see, Nip in the blossome all our hopes and Thee.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Clorinda And Damon

Damon come drive thy flocks this way.
No : 'tis too late they went astray.
I have a grassy Scutcheon spy'd, Where Flora blazons all her pride.
The grass I aim to feast thy Sheep : The Flow'rs I for thy Temples keep.
Grass withers; and the Flow'rs too fade.
Seize the short Joyes then, ere they vade.
Seest thou that unfrequented Cave ? D.
That den? C.
Loves Shrine.
But Virtue's Grave.
In whose cool bosome we may lye Safe from the Sun.
Not Heaven's Eye.
Near this, a Fountaines liquid Bell Tinkles within the concave Shell.
Might a Soul bath there and be clean, Or slake its Drought? C.
What is 't you mean? D.
These once had been enticing things, Clorinda, Pastures, Caves, and Springs.
And what late change? D.
The other day Pan met me.
What did great Pan say? D.
Words that transcend poor Shepherds skill, But he ere since my Songs does fill: And his Name swells my slender Oate.
Sweet must Pan sound in Damons Note.
Clorinda's voice might make it sweet.
Who would not in Pan's Praises meet ? Chorus Of Pan the flowry pastures sing, Caves eccho and the Fountains ring.
Sing then while he doth us inspire; For all the world is our Pan's Quire.

by Andrew Marvell | |

A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda

When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.
Thyrsis To the Elizium: (Dorinda) oh where i'st? Thyrsis A Chast Soul, can never mis't.
Dorinda I know no way, but one, our home Is our Elizium? Thyrsis Cast thine Eye to yonder Skie, There the milky way doth lye; 'Tis a sure but rugged way, That leads to Everlasting day.
Dorinda There Birds may nest, but how can I, That have no wings and cannot fly.
Thyrsis Do not sigh (fair Nimph) for fire Hath no wings, yet doth aspire Till it hit, against the pole, Heaven's the Center of the Soul.
Dorinda But in Elizium how do they Pass Eternity away.
Thyrsis Ho, ther's, neither hope nor fear Ther's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear.
No need of Dog to fetch our stray, Our Lightfoot we may give away; And there most sweetly thine Ear May feast with Musick of the Sphear.
How I my future state By silent thinking, Antidate: I preethe let us spend, our time come, In talking of Elizium.
Thyrsis Then I'le go on: There, sheep are full Of softest grass, and softest wooll; There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow, Cold winds do whisper,springs do flow.
There, alwayes is, a rising Sun, And day is ever, but begun.
Shepheards there, bear equal sway, And every Nimph's a Queen of May.
Dorinda Ah me, ah me.
Thyrsis Dorinda, why do'st Cry? Dorinda I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would dye: Convinc't me now, that this is true, By bidding, with mee, all adieu I cannot live, without thee, I Will for thee,much more with thee dye.
Dorinda Then let us give Corellia charge o'th Sheep, And thou and I'le pick poppies and them steep In wine, and drink on't even till we weep, So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Dignissimo Suo Amico Doctori Wittie. De Translatione Vulgi

 Nempe sic innumero succrescunt agmine libri,
Saepia vix toto ut jam natet una mari.
Fortius assidui surgunt a vulnere praeli: Quoque magis pressa est, auctior Hydra redit.
Heu quibus Anticyris, quibus est sanabilis herbis Improba scribendi pestis, avarus amor! India sola tenet tanti medicamina morbi, Dicitur & nostris ingemuisse malis.
Utile Tabacci dedit illa miserta venenum, Acci veratro quod meliora potest.
Jamque vides olidas libris fumare popinas: Naribus O doctis quam pretiosus odor! Hac ego praecipua credo herbam dote placere, Hinc tuus has nebulas Doctor in astra vehit.
Ah mea quid tandem facies timidissima charta? Exequias Siticen jam parat usque tuas.
Hunc subeas librum Sansti ceu limen asyli, Quem neque delebit flamma, nec ira fovis.

by Andrew Marvell | |


 Cernis ut Eio descendat Gemmula Roris,
Inque Rosas roseo transfluat orta sinu.
Sollicita Flores stant ambitione supini, Et certant foliis pellicuisse suis.
Illa tamen patriae lustrans fastigia Sphaerae, Negligit hospitii limina picta novi.
Inque sui nitido conclusa voluminis orbe, Exprimit aetherei qua licet Orbis aquas.
En ut odoratum spernat generosior Ostrum, Vixque premat casto mollia strata pede.
Suspicit at longis distantem obtutibus Axem, Inde & languenti lumine pendet amans, Tristis, & in liquidum mutata dolore dolorem, Marcet, uti roseis Lachryma fusa Genis.
Ut pavet, & motum tremit irrequieta Cubile, Et quoties Zephyro fluctuat Aura, fugit .
Qualis inexpertam subeat formido Puellam, Sicubi nocte redit incomitata domum.
Sic & in horridulas agitatur Gutta procellas, Dum prae virgineo cuncta pudore timet.
Donec oberrantem Radio clemente vaporet, Inq; jubar reducem Sol genitale trahat.
Talis, in humano si possit flore videri, Exul ubi longas Mens agit usq; moras; Haec quoque natalis meditans convivia Coeli, Evertit Calices, purpureosque Thoros.
Fontis stilla sacri, Lucis scintilla perennis, Non capitur Tyria veste, vapore Sabae.
Tota sed in proprii secedens luminis Arcem, Colligit in Gyros se sinuosa breves.
Magnorumque sequens animo convexa Deorum, Sydereum parvo fingit in Orbe Globum.
Quam bene in aversae modulum contracta figurae Oppositum Mundo claudit ubiq; latus.
Sed bibit in speculum radios ornata rotundum; Et circumfuso splendet aperta Die.
Qua Superos spectat rutilans, obscurior infra; Caetera dedignans, ardet amore Poli.
Subsilit, hinc agili Poscens discedere motu, Undique coelesti cincta soluta Viae.
Totaque in aereos extenditur orbita cursus; Hinc punctim carpens, mobile stringit iter.
Haud aliter Mensis exundans Manna beatis Deserto jacuit Stilla gelata Solo: Stilla gelata Solo, sed Solibus hausta benignis, Ad sua qua cecidit purior Aftra redit.

by Andrew Marvell | |


 Facundis dedit ille notis, interprete plumas
Insinuare sonos oculis, & pingere voces,
Et mentem chartis, oculis impertiit aurem.

by Andrew Marvell | |


 Regibus haec posuit Ludovicus Templa futuris;
Gratior ast ipsi Castra fuere Domus.

by Andrew Marvell | |

A Garden Written after the Civil Wars

 SEE how the flowers, as at parade, 
Under their colours stand display'd: 
Each regiment in order grows, 
That of the tulip, pink, and rose.
But when the vigilant patrol Of stars walks round about the pole, Their leaves, that to the stalks are curl'd, Seem to their staves the ensigns furl'd.
Then in some flower's beloved hut Each bee, as sentinel, is shut, And sleeps so too; but if once stirr'd, She runs you through, nor asks the word.
O thou, that dear and happy Isle, The garden of the world erewhile, Thou Paradise of the four seas Which Heaven planted us to please, But, to exclude the world, did guard With wat'ry if not flaming sword; What luckless apple did we taste To make us mortal and thee waste! Unhappy! shall we never more That sweet militia restore, When gardens only had their towers, And all the garrisons were flowers; When roses only arms might bear, And men did rosy garlands wear?

by Andrew Marvell | |


 Where the remote Bermudas ride
In th' Oceans bosome unespy'd,
From a small Boat, that row'd along,
The listning Winds receiv'd this Song.
What should we do but sing his Praise That led us through the watry Maze, Unto an Isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? Where he the huge Sea-Monsters wracks, That lift the Deep upon their Backs.
He lands us on a grassy stage; Safe from the Storms, and Prelat's rage.
He gave us this eternal Spring, Which here enamells every thing; And sends the Fowl's to us in care, On daily Visits through the Air, He hangs in shades the Orange bright, Like golden Lamps in a green Night.
And does in the Pomgranates close, Jewels more rich than Ormus show's.
He makes the Figs our mouths to meet; And throws the Melons at our feet.
But Apples plants of such a price, No Tree could ever bear them twice.
With Cedars, chosen by his hand, From Lebanon, he stores the Land.
And makes the hollow Seas, that roar, Proclaime the Ambergris on shoar.
He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospels Pearl upon our coast.
And in these Rocks for us did frame A Temple, where to sound his Name.
Oh let our Voice his Praise exalt, Till it arrive at Heavens Vault: Which thence (perhaps) rebounding, may Eccho beyond the Mexique Bay.
Thus sung they, in the English boat, An holy and a chearful Note, And all the way, to guide their Chime, With falling Oars they kept the time.

by Andrew Marvell | |


 You, that decipher out the Fate
Of humane Off-springs from the Skies,
What mean these Infants which of late
Spring from the Starrs of Chlora's Eyes?

Her Eyes confus'd, and doubled ore,
With Tears suspended ere they flow;
Seem bending upwards, to restore
To Heaven, whence it came, their Woe.
When, molding of the watry Sphears, Slow drops unty themselves away; As if she, with those precious Tears, Would strow the ground where Strephon lay.
Yet some affirm, pretending Art, Her Eyes have so her Bosome drown'd, Only to soften near her Heart A place to fix another Wound.
And, while vain Pomp does her restrain Within her solitary Bowr, She courts her self in am'rous Rain; Her self both Danae and the Showr.
Nay others, bolder, hence esteem Joy now so much her Master grown, That whatsoever does but seem Like Grief, is from her Windows thrown.
Nor that she payes, while she survives, To her dead Love this Tribute due; But casts abroad these Donatives, At the installing of a new.
How wide they dream! The Indian Slaves That sink for Pearl through Seas profound, Would find her Tears yet deeper Waves And not of one the bottom sound.
I yet my silent Judgment keep, Disputing not what they believe: But sure as oft as Women weep, It is to be suppos'd they grieve.

by Andrew Marvell | |

The Mowers Song

 My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine, Grew more luxuriant still and fine; That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd, But had a Flower on either side; When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forego, And in your gawdy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? When Juliana came , and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought, Shall now by my Revenge be wrought: And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all, Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been Companions of my thoughts more green, Shall now the Heraldry become With which I shall adorn my Tomb; For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

by Andrew Marvell | |

The Fair Singer

 To make a final conquest of all me,
Love did compose so sweet an Enemy,
In whom both Beauties to my death agree,
Joyning themselves in fatal Harmony;
That while she with her Eyes my Heart does bind,
She with her Voice might captivate my Mind.
I could have fled from One but singly fair: My dis-intangled Soul it self might save, Breaking the curled trammels of her hair.
But how should I avoid to be her Slave, Whose subtile Art invisibly can wreath My Fetters of the very Air I breath? It had been easie fighting in some plain, Where Victory might hang in equal choice.
But all resistance against her is vain, Who has th' advantage both of Eyes and Voice.
And all my Forces needs must be undone, She having gained both the Wind and Sun.

by Andrew Marvell | |

The Mower To The Glo-Worms

 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 Country Comets, that portend
No War, nor Princes funeral,
Shining unto no higher end
Then to presage the Grasses fall;

Ye Glo-worms, whose officious Flame
To wandring Mowers shows the way,
That in the Night have lost their aim,
And after foolish Fires do stray;

Your courteous Lights in vain you wast,
Since Juliana here is come,
For She my Mind hath so displac'd
That I shall never find my home.

by Andrew Marvell | |

To Christina Queen of Sweden

 Verses to accompany a portrait of Cromwell

Bright Martial Maid, Queen of the frozen zone, 
The northern pole supports thy shining throne.
Behold what furrows age and steel can plough; The helmet's weight oppressed this wrinkled brow.
Through fate's untrodden paths I move; my hands Still act my free-born people's bold commands; Yet this stern shade, to you submits his frowns, Nor are these looks always severe to crowns.

by Andrew Marvell | |

A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body

O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet ; and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye ; and there Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.
Tortur'd, besides each other part,1 In a vain Head, and double Heart.
Body O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretcht upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: (A Fever could but do the same.
) And, wanting where its spight to try, Has made me live to let me dye.
A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possest.
Soul What Magic could me thus confine Within anothers Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.
And all my Care its self employes, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrain'd not only to indure Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure: And ready oft the Port to gain, Am Shipwrackt into Health again.
Body But Physick yet could never reach The Maladies Thou me dost teach; Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear: And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.
The Pestilence of Love does heat : Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
Joy's chearful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.
Which Knowledge forces me to know; And Memory will not foregoe.
What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

by Andrew Marvell | |

On A Drop Of Dew

 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 incloses:
And in its little Globes Extent,
Frames as it can its native Element.
How it the purple flow'r does slight, Scarce touching where it lyes, But gazing back upon the Skies, Shines with a mournful Light; Like its own Tear, Because so long divided from the Sphear.
Restless it roules and unsecure, Trembling lest it grow impure: Till the warm Sun pitty it's Pain, And to the Skies exhale it back again.
So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day, Could it within the humane flow'r be seen, Remembring still its former height, Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green; And, recollecting its own Light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater Heaven in an Heaven less.
In how coy a Figure wound, Every way it turns away: So the World excluding round, Yet receiving in the Day.
Dark beneath, but bright above: Here disdaining, there in Love.
How loose and easie hence to go: How girt and ready to ascend.
Moving but on a point below, It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the Manna's sacred Dew destil; White, and intire, though congeal'd and chill.
Congeal'd on Earth: but does, dissolving, run Into the Glories of th' Almighty Sun.