THE DEFINITION OF LOVE

by: Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)

      Y love is of a birth as rare
      As 'tis for object strange and high;
      It was begotten by Despair
      Upon Impossibility.
       
      Magnanimous Despair alone
      Could show me so divine a thing
      Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown,
      But vainly flapp'd its tinsel wing.
       
      And yet I quickly might arrive
      Where my extended soul is fixt,
      But Fate does iron wedges drive,
      And always crowds itself betwixt.
       
      For Fate with jealous eye does see
      Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
      Their union would her ruin be,
      And her tyrannic pow'r depose.
       
      And therefore her decrees of steel
      Us as the distant poles have plac'd,
      (Though love's whole world on us doth wheel)
      Not by themselves to be embrac'd;
       
      Unless the giddy heaven fall,
      And earth some new convulsion tear;
      And, us to join, the world should all
      Be cramp'd into a planisphere.
       
      As lines, so loves oblique may well
      Themselves in every angle greet;
      But ours so truly parallel,
      Though infinite, can never meet.
       
      Therefore the love which us doth bind,
      But Fate so enviously debars,
      Is the conjunction of the mind,
      And opposition of the stars.

"The Definition of Love" is reprinted from Miscellaneous Poems. Andrew Marvell. London: Printed for Robert Boulter at the Turks-Head in Cornhill, 1681.

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