40 Total Quotes

Andrew Marvell Quotes

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
Andrew Marvell
#English Writer

Music, the mosaic of the air
Andrew Marvell
#Music

He hangs in shades the orange bright, / Like golden lamps in a green night.
Andrew Marvell
#Night

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 shade.
Andrew Marvell
#Mind

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.
Andrew Marvell
#Love

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
Andrew Marvell
#English Writer

Earth cannot show so brave a sight, / As when a single soul does fence / The batteries of alluring sense / And Heaven views it with delight.
Andrew Marvell
#Earth

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, / Or at some fruit tree's mossy root, / Casting the body's vest aside, / My soul into the boughs does glide.
Andrew Marvell
#Soul

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share / To wander solitary there: / Two paradises 'twere in one, / To live in paradise alone.
Andrew Marvell
#Paradise

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.
Andrew Marvell
#Men

Fair quiet, have I found thee here / And innocence thy sister dear?
Andrew Marvell
#Innocence

The inglorious arts of peace.
Andrew Marvell
#Peace

This delicious Solitude.
Andrew Marvell
#Solitude

Ye living lamps, by whose dear lightThe nightingale does sit so late;And studying all the summer night,Her matchless songs does meditate.
Andrew Marvell
#Living

Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
Andrew Marvell
#English Writer #Law

he world in all doth but two nations bear, The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere
Andrew Marvell
#Nations

The grave's a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace.
Andrew Marvell
#Death

Two Paradises t'were in one, to live in Paradise alone.
Andrew Marvell
#Solitude

Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
Andrew Marvell
#English Writer

My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high: It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility. Magnanimous Despair alone Could show me so divine a thing, Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown But vainly flapped its tinsel wing. And yet I quickly might arrive Where my extended soul is fixed But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt. For Fate with jealous eye does see Two perfect loves, nor lets them close: Their union would her ruin be, And her tyrranic power depose. And therefore her decrees of steel Us as the distant Poles have placed (Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel) Not by themselves to be embraced, Unless the giddy heaven fall, And earth some new convulsion tear; And, us to join, the world should all Be cramped into a planisphere. As lines (so loves) oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet: But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet. Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.
Andrew Marvell
#Famous #Love #Popular #Top 100 #Love Poems for Him #Love Poems for Her

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 Loves Day. Thou by the Indian Ganges side. Should'st 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 then 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 alwaies hear Times winged Charriot hurrying near: And yonder all before us lye Desarts of vast Eternity. Thy Beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound My ecchoing Song: then Worms shall try That long preserv'd Virginity: And your quaint Honour turn to durst; 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 hew Sits on thy skin like morning glew, And while thy willing Soul transpires At every pore with instant Fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our Time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapt pow'r. 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.
Andrew Marvell
#Love #Top 10 #Top 100

Within this sober Frame expect Work of no Forrain Architect; That unto Caves the Quarries drew, And Forrests did to Pastures hew; Who of his great Design in pain Did for a Model vault his Brain, Whose Columnes should so high be rais'd To arch the Brows that on them gaz'd. Why should of all things Man unrul'd Such unproportion'd dwellings build? The Beasts are by their Denns exprest: And Birds contrive an equal Nest; The low roof'd Tortoises do dwell In cases fit of Tortoise-shell: No Creature loves an empty space; Their Bodies measure out their Place. But He, superfluously spread, Demands more room alive then dead. And in his hollow Palace goes Where Winds as he themselves may lose. What need of all this Marble Crust T'impark the wanton Mose of Dust, That thinks by Breadth the World t'unite Though the first Builders fail'd in Height? But all things are composed here Like Nature, orderly and near: In which we the Dimensions find Of that more sober Age and Mind, When larger sized Men did stoop To enter at a narrow loop; As practising, in doors so strait, To strain themselves through Heavens Gate. And surely when the after Age Shall hither come in Pilgrimage, These sacred Places to adore, By Vere and Fairfax trod before, Men will dispute how their Extent Within such dwarfish Confines went: And some will smile at this, as well As Romulus his Bee-like Cell. Humility alone designs Those short but admirable Lines, By which, ungirt and unconstrain'd, Things greater are in less contain'd. Let others vainly strive t'immure The Circle in the Quadrature! These holy Mathematics can In ev'ry Figure equal Man. Yet thus the laden House does sweat, And scarce indures the Master great: But where he comes the swelling Hall Stirs, and the Square grows Spherical; More by his Magnitude distrest, Then he is by its straitness prest: And too officiously it slights That in it self which him delights. So Honour better Lowness bears, Then That unwonted Greatness wears Height with a certain Grace does bend, But low Things clownishly ascend. And yet what needs there here Excuse, Where ev'ry Thing does answer Use? Where neatness nothing can condemn, Nor Pride invent what to contemn? A Stately Frontispice Of Poor Adorns without the open Door: Nor less the Rooms within commends Daily new Furniture Of Friends. The House was built upon the Place Only as for a Mark Of Grace; And for an Inn to entertain Its Lord a while, but not remain. Him Bishops-Hill, or Denton may, Or Bilbrough, better hold then they: But Nature here hath been so free As if she said leave this to me. Art would more neatly have defac'd What she had laid so sweetly wast; In fragrant Gardens, shaddy Woods, Deep Meadows, and transparent Floods. While with slow Eyes we these survey, And on each pleasant footstep stay, We opportunly may relate The progress of this Houses Fate. A Nunnery first gave it birth. For Virgin Buildings oft brought forth. And all that Neighbour-Ruine shows The Quarries whence this dwelling rose. Near to this gloomy Cloysters Gates There dwelt the blooming Virgin Thwates, Fair beyond Measure, and an Heir Which might Deformity make fair. And oft She spent the Summer Suns Discoursing with the Suttle Nuns. Whence in these Words one to her weav'd, (As 'twere by Chance) Thoughts long conceiv'd. "Within this holy leisure we "Live innocently as you see. "these Walls restrain the World without, "But hedge our Liberty about. "These Bars inclose the wider Den "Of those wild Creatures, called Men. "The Cloyster outward shuts its Gates, "And, from us, locks on them the Grates. "Here we, in shining Armour white, "Like Virgin Amazons do fight. "And our chast Lamps we hourly trim, "Lest the great Bridegroom find them dim. "Our Orient Breaths perfumed are "With insense of incessant Pray'r. "And Holy-water of our Tears "Most strangly our complexion clears. "Not Tears of Grief; but such as those "With which calm Pleasure overflows; "Or Pity, when we look on you "That live without this happy Vow. "How should we grieve that must be seen "Each one a Spouse, and each a Queen; "And can in Heaven hence behold "Our brighter Robes and Crowns of Gold? "When we have prayed all our Beads, "Some One the holy Legend reads; "While all the rest with Needles paint "The Face and Graces of the Saint. "But what the Linnen can't receive "They in their Lives do interweave "This work the Saints best represents; "That serves for Altar's Ornaments. "But much it to our work would add "If here your hand, your Face we had: "By it we would our Lady touch; "Yet thus She you resembles much. "Some of your Features, as we sow'd, "Through ev'ry Shrine should be bestow'd. "And in one Beauty we would take "Enough a thousand Saints to make. "And (for I dare not quench the Fire "That me does for your good inspire) "'Twere Sacriledge a Mant t'admit "To holy things, for Heaven fit. "I see the Angels in a Crown "On you the Lillies show'ring down: "And round about you Glory breaks, "That something more then humane speaks. "All Beauty, when at such a height, "Is so already consecrate. "Fairfax I know; and long ere this "Have mark'd the Youth, and what he is. "But can he such a Rival seem "For whom you Heav'n should disesteem? "Ah, no! and 'twould more Honour prove "He your Devoto were, then Love. Here live beloved, and obey'd: Each one your Sister, each your Maid. "And, if our Rule seem strictly pend, "The Rule it self to you shall bend. "Our Abbess too, now far in Age, "Doth your succession near presage. "How soft the yoke on us would lye, "Might such fair Hands as yours it tye! "Your voice, the sweetest of the Quire, "Shall draw Heav'n nearer, raise us higher. "And your Example, if our Head, "Will soon us to perfection lead. "Those Virtues to us all so dear, "Will straight grow Sanctity when here: "And that, once sprung, increase so fast "Till Miracles it work at last. "Nor is our Order yet so nice, "Delight to banish as a Vice. "Here Pleasure Piety doth meet; "One perfecting the other Sweet. "So through the mortal fruit we boyl "The Sugars uncorrupting Oyl: "And that which perisht while we pull, "Is thus preserved clear and full. "For such indeed are all our Arts; "Still handling Natures finest Parts. "Flow'rs dress the Altars; for the Clothes, "The Sea-born Amber we compose; "Balms for the griv'd we draw; and pasts "We mold, as Baits for curious tasts. "What need is here of Man? unless "These as sweet Sins we should confess. "Each Night among us to your side "Appoint a fresh and Virgin Bride; "Whom if Our Lord at midnight find, "Yet Neither should be left behind. "Where you may lye as chast in Bed, "As Pearls together billeted. "All Night embracing Arm in Arm, "Like Chrystal pure with Cotton warm. "But what is this to all the store "Of Joys you see, and may make more! "Try but a while, if you be wise: "The Tryal neither Costs, nor Tyes. Now Fairfax seek her promis'd faith: Religion that dispensed hath; Which She hence forward does begin; The Nuns smooth Tongue has suckt her in. Oft, though he knew it was in vain, Yet would he valiantly complain. "Is this that Sanctity so great, "An Art by which you finly'r cheat "Hypocrite Witches, hence Avant, "Who though in prison yet inchant! "Death only can such Theeves make fast, "As rob though in the Dungeon cast. "Were there but, when this House was made, "One Stone that a just Hand had laid, "It must have fall'n upon her Head "Who first Thee from thy Faith misled. "And yet, how well soever ment, "With them 'twould soon grow fraudulent "For like themselves they alter all, "And vice infects the very Wall. "But sure those Buildings last not long, "Founded by Folly, kept by Wrong. "I know what Fruit their Gardens yield, "When they it think by Night conceal'd. "Fly from their Vices. 'Tis thy state, "Not Thee, that they would consecrate. "Fly from their Ruine. How I fear "Though guiltless lest thou perish there. What should he do? He would respect Religion, but not Right neglect: For first Religion taught him Right, And dazled not but clear'd his sight. Sometimes resolv'd his Sword he draws, But reverenceth then the Laws: "For Justice still that Courage led; First from a Judge, then Souldier bred. Small Honour would be in the Storm. The Court him grants the lawful Form; Which licens'd either Peace or Force, To hinder the unjust Divorce. Yet still the Nuns his Right debar'd, Standing upon their holy Guard. Ill-counsell'd Women, do you know Whom you resist, or what you do? Is not this he whose Offspring fierce Shall fight through all the Universe; And with successive Valour try France, Poland, either Germany; Till one, as long since prophecy'd, His Horse through conquer'd Britain ride? Yet, against Fate, his Spouse they kept; And the great Race would intercept. Some to the Breach against their Foes Their Wooden Saints in vain oppose Another bolder stands at push With their old Holy-Water Brush. While the disjointed Abbess threads The gingling Chain-shot of her Beads. But their lowd'st Cannon were their Lungs; And sharpest Weapons were their Tongues. But, waving these aside like Flyes, Young Fairfax through the Wall does rise. Then th' unfrequented Vault appear'd, And superstitions vainly fear'd. The Relicks False were set to view; Only the Jewels there were true. But truly bright and holy Thwaites That weeping at the Altar waites. But the glad Youth away her bears, And to the Nuns bequeaths her Tears: Who guiltily their Prize bemoan, Like Gipsies that a Child hath stoln. Thenceforth (as when th' Inchantment ends The Castle vanishes or rends) The wasting Cloister with the rest Was in one instant dispossest. At the demolishing, this Seat To Fairfax fell as by Escheat. And what both Nuns and Founders will'd 'Tis likely better thus fulfill'd, For if the Virgin prov'd not theirs, The Cloyster yet remained hers. Though many a Nun there made her vow, 'Twas no Religious-House till now. From that blest Bed the Heroe came, Whom France and Poland yet does fame: Who, when retired here to Peace, His warlike Studies could not cease; But laid these Gardens out in sport In the just Figure of a Fort; And with five Bastions it did fence, As aiming one for ev'ry Sense. When in the East the Morning Ray Hangs out the Colours of the Day, The Bee through these known Allies hums, Beating the Dian with its Drumms. Then Flow'rs their drowsie Eylids raise, Their Silken Ensigns each displayes, And dries its Pan yet dank with Dew, And fills its Flask with Odours new. These, as their Governour goes by, In fragrant Vollyes they let fly; And to salute their Governess Again as great a charge they press: None for the Virgin Nymph; for She Seems with the Flow'rs a Flow'r to be. And think so still! though not compare With Breath so sweet, or Cheek so faire. Well shot ye Fireman! Oh how sweet, And round your equal Fires do meet; Whose shrill report no Ear can tell, But Ecchoes to the Eye and smell. See how the Flow'rs, as at Parade, Under their Colours stand displaid: Each Regiment in order grows, That of the Tulip Pinke and Rose. But when the vigilant Patroul 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 Flow'rs beloved Hut Each Bee as Sentinel is shut; And sleeps so too: but, if once stir'd, She runs you through, or askes The Word. Oh Thou, that dear and happy Isle The Garden of the World ere while, Thou Paradise of four Seas, Which Heaven planted us to please, But, to exclude the World, did guard With watry if not flaming Sword; What luckless Apple did we tast, To make us Mortal, and The Wast. Unhappy! shall we never more That sweet Milltia restore, When Gardens only had their Towrs, And all the Garrisons were Flow'rs, When Roses only Arms might bear, And Men did rosie Garlands wear? Tulips, in several Colours barr'd, Were then the Switzers of our Guard. The Gardiner had the Souldiers place, And his more gentle Forts did trace. The Nursery of all things green Was then the only Magazeen. The Winter Quarters were the Stoves, Where he the tender Plants removes. But War all this doth overgrow: We Ord'nance Plant and Powder sow. And yet their walks one on the Sod Who, had it pleased him and God, Might once have made our Gardens spring Fresh as his own and flourishing. But he preferr'd to the Cinque Ports These five imaginary Forts: And, in those half-dry Trenches, spann'd Pow'r which the Ocean might command. For he did, with his utmost Skill, Ambition weed, but Conscience till. Conscience, that Heaven-nursed Plant, Which most our Earthly Gardens want. A prickling leaf it bears, and such As that which shrinks at ev'ry touch; But Flow'rs eternal, and divine, That in the Crowns of Saints do shine. The sight does from these Bastions ply, Th' invisible Artilery; And at proud Cawood Castle seems To point the Battery of its Beams. As if it quarrell'd in the Seat Th' Ambition of its Prelate great. But ore the Meads below it plays, Or innocently seems to gaze. And now to the Abbyss I pass Of that unfathomable Grass, Where Men like Grashoppers appear, But Grashoppers are Gyants there: They, in there squeking Laugh, contemn Us as we walk more low then them: And, from the Precipices tall Of the green spir's, to us do call. To see Men through this Meadow Dive, We wonder how they rise alive. As, under Water, none does know Whether he fall through it or go. But, as the Marriners that sound, And show upon their Lead the Ground, They bring up Flow'rs so to be seen, And prove they've at the Bottom been. No Scene that turns with Engines strange Does oftner then these Meadows change, For when the Sun the Grass hath vext, The tawny Mowers enter next; Who seem like Israaliies to be, Walking on foot through a green Sea. To them the Grassy Deeps divide, And crowd a Lane to either Side. With whistling Sithe, and Elbow strong, These Massacre the Grass along: While one, unknowing, carves the Rail, Whose yet unfeather'd Quils her fail. The Edge all bloody from its Breast He draws, and does his stroke detest; Fearing the Flesh untimely mow'd To him a Fate as black forebode. But bloody Thestylis, that waites To bring the mowing Camp their Cates, Greedy as Kites has trust it up, And forthwith means on it to sup: When on another quick She lights, And cryes, he call'd us Israelites; But now, to make his saying true, Rails rain for Quails, for Manna Dew. Unhappy Birds! what does it boot To build below the Grasses Root; When Lowness is unsafe as Hight, And Chance o'retakes what scapeth spight? And now your Orphan Parents Call Sounds your untimely Funeral. Death-Trumpets creak in such a Note, And 'tis the Sourdine in their Throat. Or sooner hatch or higher build: The Mower now commands the Field; In whose new Traverse seemeth wrought A Camp of Battail newly fought: Where, as the Meads with Hay, the Plain Lyes quilted ore with Bodies slain: The Women that with forks it filing, Do represent the Pillaging. And now the careless Victors play, Dancing the Triumphs of the Hay; Where every Mowers wholesome Heat Smells like an Alexanders Sweat. Their Females fragrant as the Mead Which they in Fairy Circles tread: When at their Dances End they kiss, Their new-made Hay not sweeter is. When after this 'tis pil'd in Cocks, Like a calm Sea it shews the Rocks: We wondring in the River near How Boats among them safely steer. Or, like the Desert Memphis Sand, Short Pyramids of Hay do stand. And such the Roman Camps do rise In Hills for Soldiers Obsequies. T
Andrew Marvell
#Religious