Andrew Marvell Quotes

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

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

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

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

Therefore the love which us doth bind, But fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.

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

How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays; And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all flow'rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.

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

Music, the mosaic of the air.

The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.

Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns

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.

But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.

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

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

Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball: And tear our pleasures with rough strife, Through the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

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

Had it lived long, is would have been Lilies without, roses within.

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

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

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

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

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.

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 peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.