ANDREW MARVELL

The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made 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; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs 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 'twere 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 :

And, as it works, th' industrious bee

Computes its time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours

Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers !

39*

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