








The Garden, 
Andrew Marvell. 
i OW vainly men themselves amaze, 
~ To win the palm, the oak, or bays; 
And their incessant labors see 
Crown’d 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. 
