ANDREW MARVELL
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Do quickly make th' example yours; And ere we see, Nip in the blossom all our hopes and thee.
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��Thoughts in a Garden
OW 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 the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of repose'
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. Arid 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 amorous 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 hers exceed' Fair trees' whcres'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.
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