Andrew Marvell

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

An Epitaph - Poem by Andrew Marvell

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Enough; and leave the rest to Fame!
'Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship which, living, she declined,
When dead, to offer were unkind:
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
Without detracting, her commend.

To say--she lived a virgin chaste
In this age loose and all unlaced;
Nor was, when vice is so allowed,
Of virtue or ashamed or proud;
That her soul was on Heaven so bent,
No minute but it came and went;
That, ready her last debt to pay,
She summ'd her life up every day;
Modest as morn, as mid-day bright,
Gentle as evening, cool as night:
--'Tis true; but all too weakly said.
'Twas more significant, she's dead.


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Read poems about / on: friend, heaven, night, life



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

Poem Edited: Monday, September 19, 2011


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