How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their uncessant labours see
Crownâd from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all flowârs and all 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.
No white nor red was ever seen
So amârous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistressâ name;
Little, alas, they know or heed
How far these beauties hers exceed!
Fair trees! wheresâeâer your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
When we have run our passionâs heat,
Love hither makes his best retreat.
The gods, that mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race:
Apollo hunted Daphne so,
Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
What wondârous 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 nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons as I pass,
Ensnarâd with flowârs, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;
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 thatâs made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountainâs sliding foot,
Or at some fruit treeâs mossy root,
Casting the bodyâs 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 preparâd for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was that happy garden-state,
While man there walkâd without a mate;
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But âtwas beyond a mortalâs share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises âtwere in one
To live in paradise alone.
How well the skillful gardâner drew
Of flowârs and herbs this dial new,
Where from above the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run;
And as it works, thâ industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckonâd but with herbs and flowârs!