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, Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen Cut in these trees their mistress' name. How far these beauties her exceed! Fair trees, where'er your barks I wound, When we have run our passion's heat, Only that she might laurel grow. What wondrous life is this I lead! 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; 39 To a green thought in a green shade. Here, at the fountain's sliding foot, 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: How well the skilful gard'ner drew THE GARDEN. And, as it works, th' industrious bee How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd but with herbs and flowers? 41 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 Fairer now the view around; Flora, smiling in her bower, Hails the tender vernal shower. Cool and fragrant is the gale, |