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The Garden
How vainly men themselves amaze Does straight its own resemblance find,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, Yet it creates, transcending these,
And their uncessant labours see Far other worlds, and other seas;
Crown’d from some single herb or tree, Annihilating all that’s made
Whose short and narrow verged shade To a green thought in a green shade.
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all flow’rs and all trees do close Here at the fountain’s sliding foot,
To weave the garlands of repose. Or at some fruit tree’s mossy root,
Casting the body’s vest aside,
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, My soul into the boughs does glide;
And Innocence, thy sister dear! There like a bird it sits and sings,
Mistaken long, I sought you then Then whets, and combs its silver wings;
In busy companies of men; And, till prepar’d for longer flight,
Your sacred plants, if here below, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Only among the plants will grow.
Society is all but rude, Such was that happy garden-state,
To this delicious solitude. While man there walk’d without a mate;
After a place so pure and sweet,
No white nor red was ever seen What other help could yet be meet!
So am’rous as this lovely green. But ’twas beyond a mortal’s share
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, To wander solitary there:
Cut in these trees their mistress’ name; Two paradises ’twere in one
Little, alas, they know or heed To live in paradise alone.
How far these beauties hers exceed!
Fair trees! wheres’e’er your barks I wound, How well the skillful gard’ner drew
No name shall but your own be found. Of flow’rs and herbs this dial new,
Where from above the milder sun
When we have run our passion’s heat, Does through a fragrant zodiac run;
Love hither makes his best retreat. And as it works, th’ industrious bee
The gods, that mortal beauty chase, Computes its time as well as we.
Still in a tree did end their race: How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Apollo hunted Daphne so, Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!
Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.