The Garden

How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their ungrateful country change, For the soft whispers of the strange.

At the ear’s outskirts thoughts create Their fain, still, waters that await. To see the unarrayed life, Of woods without a need of strife.

In midst of pleasant groves I stand, And there I find a guiding hand. The fruits of earth both soft and sweet In secret sceneries I meet.

The dove and turtle make their choice, Below the sun the air is voice. The murmuring brooks adorn the green, With tales of love that must be seen.

Oh, let the crown that’s won be clear, The joy expands in beauty here. The lines are traced, the seasons sway, In stillness of thy life, I’ll stay.

Here’s nature’s paradise in view, My heart is ever faithful, true. For in these blooms I find my peace, Where all my weary cares may cease.

• Andrew Marvell