The Garden.

Andrew Marvell.

HOW vainly men themselves amaze,

To win the palm, the oak, or bays;

And their incessant labors see

Crown'd 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.

No white nor red was ever seen
So am'rous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,

Cut in these trees their mistress' name.
Little, alas, they know or heed

How far these beauties her exceed!

Fair trees, 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 gods, 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 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, the curious peach,

Into my

hands themselves do reach.

Stumbling on melons, as I pass,

Ensnar'd with flowers, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,

Withdraws into its happiness;

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To a green thought in a green shade.

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:
Here, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets, and claps its silver wings;
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.

Such was that happy garden-state,

While man there walk'd without a mate:

After a place so pure and sweet,

What other help could yet be meet!

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share

To wander solitary there:
Two Paradises are in one,
To live in Paradise alone.

How well the skilful gard'ner drew
Of flowers and herbs, this dial new :
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:

THE GARDEN.

And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Computes his time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours

Be reckon'd but with herbs and flowers?

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The Vernal Shower.

OW the lucid tears of May

Now

Mrs. Hemans.

Gem the blossoms of the spray; Every leaf and bending flower

Glitters in the vernal shower.

Lovely in the clouded sky
See, the Rainbow shines on high;
Mark the heavenly colors bright
Ere they vanish from the sight.

Fairer now the view around;
Brighter verdure decks the ground;

Flora, smiling in her bower,

Hails the tender vernal shower.

Cool and fragrant is the gale,
Breathing sweets from yonder vale;
Where the flowers in freshened pride
Smile upon the fountain side.