And more
attentive
there doth sit
Than if she were with lime-twigs knit.
Than if she were with lime-twigs knit.
Marvell - Poems
Dark all without it knits ; within
It opens passable and thin.
And in as loose an order gix)W8,
As the Corinthian porticos.
The arching boughs unite between
The columns of the temple green,
And underneath the winged quires
p]cho about their tuned fires.
TJie nightingale does here make choice
To sing the trials of her voice ;
Low shrubs she sits in, and adorns
With music high the squatted thorns ;
But highest oaks stoop down to hear,
And listening elders prick the ear ;
The thorn, lest it should hurt her, draws
Within the skin its shrunken claws.
But I have for my music found
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OF MARVELL. 25
A sadder, yet more pleasing sound ;
The stock-doves, whose fair necks are graced
With nuptial rings, their ensigns chaste,
Yet always, for some cause unknown, ««
Sad pair, unto the elms they moan.
why should such a couple mourn,
That in so equal flames do bui*n !
Then as I careless on the bed
Of gelid strawberries do tread, 5»
And through the hazels thick espy
The hatching throstle's shining eye,
The heron, from the ash's top,
The eldest of its young lets drop.
As if it stork-like did pretend mj
That tribute to its lord to send.
But most the heweFs wonders are,
Who here has the holtselster's care ;
He walks still upright from the root,
Measuring the timber with his foot, 540
And all the way, to keep it clean,
Doth from the bark the wood-moths glean ;
He, with his beak, examines well
Which fit to stand, and which to fell ;
The good he numbers up, and hacks 545
As if he marked them with an axe ;
But where he, tinkling with his beak.
Does find the hollow oak to speak,
That for his building he designs,
And through the tainted side he mines. sso
Who could have thought the tallest oak
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26 THE POEMS
Should fall by s;uch a feeble stroke ?
Nor would it, had the tree not fed
A traitor worm, within it bred,
(As first our flesh, corrupt within,
Tempts impotent and bashful sin,)
And yet that worm triumphs not long,
But serves to feed the hewel's young.
While the oak seems to fall content,
Viewing the treason's punishments
Thus, I, easy philosopher,
Among the birds and trees confer,
And little now to make me wants
Or of the fowls, or of the plants :
Give me but wings as they, and I
Straight floating on the air shall fly ;
Or turn me but, and you shall see
I was but an inverted tree.
Already 1 begin to call
In their most learned original,
And, where I language want, my signs
The bird upon the bough divines.
And more attentive there doth sit
Than if she were with lime-twigs knit. .
No leaf does tremble in the wind.
Which I returning cannot find ;
Out of these scattered Sibyl's leaves,
Strange prophecies my fancy weaves,
And in one history consumes.
Like Mexique paintings, all the plumes ;
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OF MARVELL. 27
What Rome, Greece, Palestine, e'er said,
I in this light Mosaic read.
Thrice happy he, who, not mistook.
Hath read in nature's mystic book I
And see how chance's better wit sss
Could with a mask my studies hit !
The oak-leaves me embroider all.
Between which caterpillars crawl ;
And ivy, with familiar trails.
Me licks and clasps, and curls and hales. &»
Under this Attic cope I move.
Like some great prelate of the grove ;
Then, languishing with ease, I toss
On pallets swoln of velvet moss.
While the wind, cooling through the boughs, s»
Flatters with air my panting brows.
Thanks for my rest, ye mossy banks,
And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks.
Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed,
And winnow from the chaff my head !
