All Poems
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Hortus
© Andrew Marvell
Quisnam adeo, mortale genus, praecordia versat:
Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel simplicis Herbae!
Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una labores;
Tempora nec foliis praecingat tota maglignis.
Wilfred
© John Le Gay Brereton
What of these tender feet
That have never toddled yet?
What dances shall they beat,
With what red vintage wet?
In what wild way will they march or stray, by what sly paynims met?
Tom May's Death
© Andrew Marvell
As one put drunk into the Packet-boat,
Tom May was hurry'd hence and did not know't.
But was amaz'd on the Elysian side,
And with an Eye uncertain, gazing wide,
Moses In The Bulrushes. A Sacred Drama
© Hannah More
Hebrew Woman.
Jochebed, Mother of Moses.
Miriam, his Sister.
To His Noble Friend, Mr. Richard Lovelace, Upon His Poems
© Andrew Marvell
Sir,
Our times are much degenerate from those
Which your sweet muse with your fair fortune chose,
And as complexions alter with the climes,
On A Connubial Rupture In High Life
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I sigh, fair injured stranger! for thy fate;
But what shall sighs avail thee? Thy poor heart,
'Mid all the 'pomp and circumstance' of state,
Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, start
The Match
© Andrew Marvell
Nature had long a Treasure made
Of all her choisest store;
Fearing, when She should be decay'd,
To beg in vain for more.
The Coronet
© Andrew Marvell
When for the Thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,
My Saviours head have crown'd,
I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:
The Mower Against Gardens
© Andrew Marvell
Luxurious Man, to bring his Vice in use,
Did after him the World seduce:
And from the Fields the Flow'rs and Plants allure,
Where Nature was most plain and pure.
A Letter To Doctor Ingelo, then With My Lord Whitlock, Amba
© Andrew Marvell
Quid facis Arctoi charissime transfuga coeli,
Ingele, proh sero cognite, rapte cito?
Num satis Hybernum defendis pellibus Astrum,
Qui modo tam mollis nec bene firmus eras?
." by William Shakespeare">Sonnet 108: "What's in the brain, that ink may character,..."
© William Shakespeare
What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
The Character Of Holland
© Andrew Marvell
Holland, that scarce deserves the name of Land,
As but th'Off-scouring of the Brittish Sand;
And so much Earth as was contributed
By English Pilots when they heav'd the Lead;
Lady Hamilton
© Muriel Stuart
Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Music's Empire
© Andrew Marvell
First was the world as one great cymbal made,
Where jarring winds to infant Nature played.
All music was a solitary sound,
To hollow rocks and murm'ring fountains bound.
To A Blue Flower
© John Shaw Neilson
I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;
But I can talk plainly to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!
Upon Appleton House, to My Lord Fairfax
© Andrew Marvell
Within this sober Frame expect
Work of no Forrain Architect;
That unto Caves the Quarries drew,
And Forrests did to Pastures hew;
The Mower's Song
© Andrew Marvell
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
