THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 



BY ANDREW MARVEL 



How vainly men themselves amaze 

 To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 

 And their incessant labours see 

 Crowned from some single herb or tree, 

 Whose short and narrow-verged shade 

 Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 

 While all the flowers and trees do close 

 To weave the garlands cf Repose. 



Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 

 And Innocence, thy sister dear ? 

 Mistaken long, I sought you then 

 In busy companies of men : 

 You sacred plants, if here below, 

 Only among the plants will grow : 

 Society is all but rude 

 To this delicious solitude. . . . 



How well the skilful gardener 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 reckoned, but with herbs and flowers ! 



