Andrew Marvell

(31 March 1621 – 16 August 1678 / Yorkshire, England)

Andrew Marvell Poems

41. Thoughts In A Garden 1/4/2003
42. The Mower To The Glow-Worms 1/1/2004
43. The Unfortunate Lover 12/31/2002
44. A Dialogue, Between The Resolved Soul, And Created Pleasure 12/31/2002
45. Last Instructions To A Painter 1/3/2003
46. Tom May's Death 12/31/2002
47. A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C. 12/31/2002
48. The Coronet 12/31/2002
49. An Epitaph 1/4/2003
50. Hortus 12/31/2002
51. Aliter 12/31/2002
52. First Anniversary 1/3/2003
53. Blake's Victory 1/3/2003
54. An Horatian Ode Upon Cromwell's Return From Ireland 1/3/2003
55. Upon Appleton House, To My Lord Fairfax 12/31/2002
56. The Fair Singer 12/31/2002
57. Young Love 12/31/2002
58. Music's Empire 1/3/2003
59. Bermudas 12/31/2002
60. The Garden 12/31/2002
61. A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body 12/31/2002
62. Eyes And Tears 12/31/2002
63. The Definition Of Love 12/31/2002
64. To His Coy Mistress 12/31/2002

Comments about Andrew Marvell

  • Wayne Kingston (3/23/2016 3:30:00 PM)

    Eyes and Tears....magnificent, truly. Astonishing work +/- 376 years old. OMG, we're so arrogant in our modern elitist conceits.

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    2 person did not like.
  • Sudeep Gyawali (2/11/2010 7:33:00 AM)

    his metaphysical poetry is an example of enlish philosophy presented in conciets

Best Poem of Andrew Marvell

To His Coy Mistress

Had we but World enough, and Time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges side.
Should'st Rubies find: I by the Tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood:
And you should if you please refuse
Till the Conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable Love should grow
Vaster then Empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.
Two hundred to adore each Breast.
But thirty thousand to the...

Read the full of To His Coy Mistress

Cromwell's Return

An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's Return From Ireland

The forward youth that would appear
Must now forsake his muses dear,
Nor in the shadows sing,
His numbers languishing.
'Tis time to leave the books in dust,
And oil the unusèd armour's rust:
Removing from the wall

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