'Tis she that to these gardens gave
that wondrous beauty which they have.
She straightness on the woods bestows;
To her the meadows sweetness owes.
Nothing could make the river be
So crystal pure but only she.
She yet more pure, sweet, straight and fair
than gardens, woods, meads, river are.
Therefore what first she on them spent
They gratefully again present;
The meadow, carpets where to tread;
The garden, flowers to crown her head;
and for a glass, the limpid brook,
Where she may all her beauties look,
But since she would not have them seen,
The wood about her draws a screen...
Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)
Painting by Francis Coates Jones (1857-1932)