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APPENDIX. 
Andrew Marvell’s exquisite Garden comes last, — 
unabridged, — though we think the last stanza but 
one contains a heresy against truth. 
THE GARDEN. 
“ How vainly men themselves amaze 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
And their incessant labors 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 of repose. 
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
And Innocence, thy sister dear ? 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men. 
Your sacred plants, if here below, 
Only among the plants will grow; 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude. 
No white nor red was ever seen 
So amorous as this lovely green. 
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 
Cut in these trees their mistress’ name; 
Little, alas! they know or heed 
How far these beauties her exceed! 
Fair trees! where’er your barks I wound, 
No name shall but your own be found. 
