ANDREW MARVELL. 
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 body’s vest aside, 
My soul into the boughs does glide: 
Here, like a bird, it sits and sings, 
Then whets, and elaps its silver wings ; 
And, till prepared 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 are in one, 
To live in Paradise alone. 
How well the skilful gard’ner drew 
Of flowers and herbs, this dial new: 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run: 

