The Garden

• How vainly men themselves amaze
• To win the Palm, the Oke, or Bayes;
• And their uncessant Labours see
• Crown'd from some single Herb or Tree,
• Whose short and narrow verged Shade
• Does prudently their Toyles upbraid;
• While all Flow'rs and all Trees do close
• To weave the Garlands of repose.
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• Fair quiet, have I found thee here,
• And Innocence thy Sister dear!
• Mistaken long, I sought you then
• In busie Companies of Men.
• Your sacred Plants, if here below,
• Only among the Plants will grow.
• Society is all but rude,
• To this delicious Solitude.
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• No white nor red was ever seen
• So am'rous 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 Hers exceed!
• Fair Trees! where s'eer you barkes I wound,
• No Name shall but your own be found.
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• When we have run our Passions heat,
• Love hither makes his best retreat.
• The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase,
• The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase,
• Apollo hunted Daphne so,
• Only that She might Laurel grow.
• And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
• Not as a Nymph, but for a Reed.
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• What wond'rous Life in this I lead!
• Ripe Apples drop about my head;
• The Luscious Clusters of the Vine
• Upon my Mouth do crush their Wine;
• The Nectaren, and curious Peach,
• Into my hands themselves do reach;
• Stumbling on Melons, as I pass,
• Insnar'd with Flow'rs, I fall on Grass.
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• Mean while the Mind, from pleasure less,
• Withdraws into its happiness:
• The Mind, that Ocean where each kind
• Does streight 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.
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• Here at the Fountains sliding foot,
• Or at some Fruit-tress mossy root,
• Casting the Bodies Vest aside,
• My Soul into the boughs does glide:
• There like a Bird it sits, and sings,
• Then whets, and combs its silver Wings;
• And, till prepar'd for longer flight,
• Waves in its Plumes the various Light.
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• 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 'twere in one
• To live in Paradise alone.
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• How well the skilful Gardner drew
• Of flow'rs and herbes this Dial new;
• Where from above the milder Sun
• Does through a fragrant Zodiack run;
• And, as it works, th' industrious Bee
• Computes its time as well as we.
• How could such sweet and wholsome Hours
• Be reckon'd but with herbs and flow'rs!