He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows;
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price
No tree could ever bear them twice.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. Bermudas (l. 17-24). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

Self-preservation, nature's first great law,
All the creatures, except man, doth awe.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British metaphysical poet. "Hodge's Vision.")

So the soul, that drop, that ray
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height,
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green;
And, recollecting its own light,
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in an heaven less.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. On a Drop of Dew (l. 19-26). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

Oh! let our voice His praise exalt,
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. Bermudas (l. 33-36). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two Paradises 'twere in one,
To live in Paradise alone.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British metaphysical poet. The Garden, st. 8 (written c. 1650, published 1681).)

The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British metaphysical poet. The Garden, st. 6 (written c. 1650, published 1681).)

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 flights,
Waves in its plumes the various light.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. The Garden (l. 49-56). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

What wondrous life in this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. The Garden (l. 33-40). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

Alas I find the Serpent old
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold,
With wreaths of Fame and Interest.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. The Coronet (l. 13-16). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)

But physic yet could never reach
The maladies thou me dost teach:
Whom first the cramp of hope does tear;
And then the palsy shakes of fear;
The pestilence of love does heat;
Or hatred's hidden ulcer eat;
Joy's cheerful madness does perplex,
Or sorrow's other madness vex;
Which knowledge forces me to know,
And memory will not forgo.
What but a soul could have the wit
To build me up for sin so fit?
So architects do square and hew
Green trees that in the forest grew.

(Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), British poet. A Dialogue between the Soul and Body (l. 31-44). . . The Complete Poems [Andrew Marvell]. Elizabeth Story Donno, ed. (1972, repr. 1985) Penguin.)