ANDREW MARVELL 167 



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 bodie's vest aside, 

 My soul into the boughs does glide : 

 There, like a bird it sits, and sings, 

 Then whets and claps its silver wings ; 

 And, till prepar'd 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. 



