To weave the
garlands
of repose !
Marvell - Poems
Digitized by VjOOQIC
OF MABYELL. 115
So the souly that drop, that raj,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height.
Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green,
And, recollecting its own light.
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in a 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 easy 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 distil.
White and entire, although congealed and chill ;
Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the almighty sun.
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116 THE P0E3JS
THE GARDEN.
(TRANSLATED. )
How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bajs,
And their incessant labours see
Crowned from some single herb, or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid,
While all the flowers, and trees, do close.
To weave the garlands of repose !
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here.
And Innocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow ;
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.
Ko white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
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Cfit'
OP MARVKLL. 117
Fond lovers, cruel as their Dame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name :
Little, alas I they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed !
Fair trees 1 where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
When we have run our passion's heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The godsj who mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race ;
Apollo hunted Daphne so.
Only that she might laurel grow ;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed.
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
'•^ What wond'rous 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,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
