Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Andrew Marvell Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Andrew Marvell poems. This is a select list of the best famous Andrew Marvell poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Andrew Marvell poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Andrew Marvell poems.

Search for the best famous Andrew Marvell poems, articles about Andrew Marvell poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Andrew Marvell poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back

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 | |

The Gallery

Clora, come view my soul, and tell
Whether I have contrived it well.
Now all its several lodgings lie Composed into one gallery; And the great arras-hangings, made Of various faces, by are laid; That, for all furniture, you'll find Only your picture in my mind.
Here thou art painted in the dress Of an inhuman murderess; Examining upon our hearts Thy fertile shop of cruel arts: Engines more keen than ever yet Adornèd tyrant's cabinet; Of which the most tormenting are Black eyes, red lips, and curlèd hair.
But, on the other side, thou'rt drawn Like to Aurora in the dawn; When in the east she slumb'ring lies, And stretches out her milky thighs; While all the morning choir does sing, And manna falls, and roses spring; And, at thy feet, the wooing doves Sit perfecting their harmless loves.
Like an enchantress here thou show'st, Vexing thy restless lover's ghost; And, by a light obscure, dost rave Over his entrails, in the cave; Divining thence, with horrid care, How long thou shalt continue fair; And (when informed) them throw'st away, To be the greedy vulture's prey.
But, against that, thou sit'st afloat Like Venus in her pearly boat.
The halcyons, calming all that's nigh, Betwixt the air and water fly: Or, if some rolling wave appears, A mass of ambergris it bears: Nor blows more wind than what may well Convoy the perfume to the smell.
These pictures and a thousand more, Of thee, my gallery do store; In all the forms thou canst invent Either to please me, or torment: For thou alone to people me, Art grown a num'rous colony; And a collection choicer far Than or Whitehall's, or Mantua's were.
But, of these pictures and the rest, That at the entrance likes me best; Where the same posture, and the look Remains, with which I first was took: A tender shepherdess, whose hair Hangs loosely playing in the air, Transplanting flowers from the green hill, To crown her head, and bosom fill.

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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.

by Andrew Marvell | |

Daphnis And Chloe

 Daphnis must from Chloe part:
Now is come the dismal Hour
That must all his Hopes devour,
All his Labour, all his Art.
Nature, her own Sexes foe, Long had taught her to be coy: But she neither knew t' enjoy, Nor yet let her Lover go.
But, with this sad News surpriz'd, Soon she let that Niceness fall; And would gladly yield to all, So it had his stay compriz'd.
Nature so her self does use To lay by her wonted State, Left the World should separate; Sudden Parting closer glews.
He, well read in all the wayes By which men their Siege maintain, Knew not that the Fort to gain Better 'twas the siege to raise.
But he came so full possest With the Grief of Parting thence, That he had not so much Sence As to see he might be blest.
Till Love in her Language breath'd Words she never spake before; But then Legacies no more To a dying Man bequeath'd.
For, Alas, the time was spent, Now the latest minut's run When poor Daphnis is undone, Between Joy and Sorrow rent.
At that Why, that Stay my Dear, His disorder'd Locks he tare; And with rouling Eyes did glare, And his cruel Fate forswear.
As the Soul of one scarce dead, With the shrieks of Friends aghast, Looks distracted back in hast, And then streight again is fled.
So did wretched Daphnis look, Frighting her he loved most.
At the last, this Lovers Ghost Thus his Leave resolved took.
Are my Hell and Heaven Joyn'd More to torture him that dies? Could departure not suffice, But that you must then grow kind? Ah my Chloe how have I Such a wretched minute found, When thy Favours should me wound More than all thy Cruelty? So to the condemned Wight The delicious Cup we fill; And allow him all he will, For his last and short Delight.
But I will not now begin Such a Debt unto my Foe; Nor to my Departure owe What my Presence could not win.
Absence is too much alone: Better 'tis to go in peace, Than my Losses to increase By a late Fruition.
Why should I enrich my Fate? 'Tis a Vanity to wear, For my Executioner, Jewels of so high a rate.
Rather I away will pine In a manly stubborness Than be fatted up express For the Canibal to dine.
Whilst this grief does thee disarm, All th' Enjoyment of our Love But the ravishment would prove Of a Body dead while warm.
And I parting should appear Like the Gourmand Hebrew dead, While he Quailes and Manna fed, And does through the Desert err.
Or the Witch that midnight wakes For the Fern, whose magick Weed In one minute casts the Seed.
And invisible him makes.
Gentler times for Love are ment: Who for parting pleasure strain Gather Roses in the rain, Wet themselves and spoil their Sent.
Farewel therefore all the fruit Which I could from Love receive: Joy will not with Sorrow weave, Nor will I this Grief pollute.
Fate I come, as dark, as sad, As thy Malice could desire; Yet bring with me all the Fire That Love in his Torches had.
At these words away he broke; As who long has praying ly'n, To his Heads-man makes the Sign, And receives the parting stroke.
But hence Virgins all beware.
Last night he with Phlogis slept; This night for Dorinda kept; And but rid to take the Air.
Yet he does himself excuse; Nor indeed without a Cause.
For, according to the Lawes, Why did Chloe once refuse?

by Andrew Marvell | |

On The Victory Obtained By Blake Over the Spaniards In The Bay Of Scanctacruze In The Island Of teneriff.1657

 Now does Spains Fleet her spatious wings unfold,
Leaves the new World and hastens for the old:
But though the wind was fair, the slowly swoome
Frayted with acted Guilt, and Guilt to come:
For this rich load, of which so proud they are,
Was rais'd by Tyranny, and rais'd for war;
Every capatious Gallions womb was fill'd,
With what the Womb of wealthy Kingdomes yield,
The new Worlds wounded Intails they had tore,
For wealth wherewith to wound the old once more.
Wealth which all others Avarice might cloy, But yet in them caus'd as much fear, as Joy.
For now upon the Main, themselves they saw, That boundless Empire, where you give the law, Of winds and waters rage, they fearful be, But much more fearful are your Flags to see Day, that to these who sail upon the deep, More wish't for, and more welcome is then sleep, They dreaded to behold, Least the Sun's light, With English Streamers, should salute their sight: In thickest darkness they would choose to steer, So that such darkness might suppress their fear; At length theirs vanishes, and fortune smiles; For they behold the sweet Canary Isles.
One of which doubtless is by Nature blest Above both Worlds, since 'tis above the rest.
For least some Gloominess might stain her sky, Trees there the duty of the Clouds supply; O noble Trust which Heaven on this Isle poures, Fertile to be, yet never need her showres.
A happy People, which at once do gain The benefits without the ills of rain.
Both health and profit, Fate cannot deny; Where still the Earth is moist, the Air still dry; The jarring Elements no discord know, Fewel and Rain together kindly grow; And coolness there, with heat doth never fight, This only rules by day, and that by Night.
Your worth to all these Isles, a just right brings, The best of Lands should have the best of Kings.
And these want nothing Heaven can afford, Unless it be, the having you their Lord; But this great want, will not along one prove, Your Conquering Sword will soon that want remove.
For Spain had better, Shee'l ere long confess, Have broken all her Swords, then this one Peace, Casting that League off, which she held so long, She cast off that which only made her strong.
Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain, Peace, against you, was the sole strength of Spain.
By that alone those Islands she secures, Peace made them hers, but War will make them yours; There the indulgent Soil that rich Grape breeds, Which of the Gods the fancied drink exceeds; They still do yield, such is their pretious mould, All that is good, and are not curst with Gold.
With fatal Gold, for still where that does grow, Neither the Soyl, nor People quiet know.
Which troubles men to raise it when 'tis Oar, And when 'tis raised, does trouble them much more.
Ah, why was thither brought that cause of War, Kind Nature had from thence remov'd so far.
In vain doth she those Islands free from Ill, If fortune can make guilty what she will.
But whilst I draw that Scene, where you ere long, Shall conquests act, your present are unsung, For Sanctacruze the glad Fleet takes her way, And safely there casts Anchor in the Bay.
Never so many with one joyful cry, That place saluted, where they all must dye.
Deluded men! Fate with you did but sport, You scap't the Sea, to perish in your Port.
'Twas more for Englands fame you should dye there, Where you had most of strength, and least of fear.
The Peek's proud height, the Spaniards all admire, Yet in their brests, carry a pride much higher.
Onely to this vast hill a power is given, At once both to Inhabit Earth and Heaven.
But this stupendious Prospect did not neer, Make them admire, so much as as they did fear.
For here they met with news, which did produce, A grief, above the cure of Grapes best juice.
They learn'd with Terrour, that nor Summers heat, Nor Winters storms, had made your Fleet retreat.
To fight against such Foes, was vain they knew, Which did the rage of Elements subdue.
Who on the Ocean that does horror give, To all besides, triumphantly do live.
With hast they therefore all their Gallions moar, And flank with Cannon from the Neighbouring shore.
Forts, Lines, and Sconces all the Bay along, They build and act all that can make them strong.
Fond men who know not whilst such works they raise, They only Labour to exalt your praise.
Yet they by restless toyl, because at Length, So proud and confident of their made strength.
That they with joy their boasting General heard, Wish then for that assault he lately fear'd.
His wish he has, for now undaunted Blake, With winged speed, for Sanctacruze does make.
For your renown, his conquering Fleet does ride, Ore Seas as vast as is the Spaniards pride.
Whose Fleet and Trenches view'd, he soon did say, We to their Strength are more obilg'd then they.
Wer't not for that, they from their Fate would run, And a third World seek out our Armes to shun.
Those Forts, which there, so high and strong appear, Do not so much suppress, as shew their fear.
Of Speedy Victory let no man doubt, Our worst works past, now we have found them out.
Behold their Navy does at Anchor lye, And they are ours, for now they cannot fly.
This said, the whole Fleet gave it their applause, And all assumes your courage, in your cause.
That Bay they enter, which unto them owes, The noblest wreaths, that Victory bestows.
Bold Stainer Leads, this Fleets design'd by fate, To give him Lawrel, as the Last did Plate.
The Thund'ring Cannon now begins the Fight, And though it be at Noon, creates a Night.
The Air was soon after the fight begun, Far more enflam'd by it, then by the Sun.
Never so burning was that Climate known, War turn'd the temperate, to the Torrid Zone.
Fate these two Fleets, between both Worlds had brought.
Who fight, as if for both those Worlds they fought.
Thousands of wayes, Thousands of men there dye, Some Ships are sunk, some blown up in the skie.
Nature never made Cedars so high a Spire, As Oakes did then.
Urg'd by the active fire.
Which by quick powders force, so high was sent, That it return'd to its own Element.
Torn Limbs some leagues into the Island fly, Whilst others lower, in the Sea do lye.
Scarce souls from bodies sever'd are so far, By death, as bodies there were by the War.
Th'all-seeing Sun, neer gaz'd on such a sight, Two dreadful Navies there at Anchor Fight.
And neither have, or power, or will to fly, There one must Conquer, or there both must dye.
Far different Motives yet, engag'd them thus, Necessity did them, but Choice did us.
A choice which did the highest forth express, And was attended by as high success.
For your resistless genious there did Raign, By which we Laurels reapt ev'n on the Mayn.
So prosperous Stars, though absent to the sence, Bless those they shine for, by their Influence.
Our Cannon now tears every Ship and Sconce, And o're two Elements Triumphs at once.
Their Gallions sunk, their wealth the Sea does fill, The only place where it can cause no ill, Ah would those Treasures which both Indies have, Were buryed in as large, and deep a grave, Wars chief support with them would buried be, And the Land owe her peace unto the Sea.
Ages to come, your conquering Arms will bless, There they destroy, what had destroy'd their Peace.
And in one War the present age may boast, The certain seeds of many Wars are lost, All the Foes Ships destroy'd, by Sea or fire, Victorious Blake, does from the Bay retire, His Seige of Spain he then again pursues, And there first brings of his success the news; The saddest news that ere to Spain was brought, Their rich Fleet sunk, and ours with Lawrel fraught.
Whilst fame in every place, her Trumpet blowes, And tells the World, how much to you it owes.