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Andrew Marvell - The Match
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Nature had long a Treasure made
Of all her choisest store;
Fearing, when She should be decay`d,
To beg in vain for more.

Her Orientest Colours there,
And Essences most pure,
With sweetest Perfumes hoarded were,
All as she thought secure.

She seldom them unlock`d, or us`d,
But with the nicest care;
For, with one grain of them diffus`d,
She could the World repair.

But likeness soon together drew
What she did separate lay;
Of which one perfect Beauty grew,
And that was Celia.

Love wisely had of long fore-seen
That he must once grow old;
And therefore stor`d a Magazine,
To save him from the cold.

He kept the several Cells repleat
With Nitre thrice refin`d;
The Naphta`s and the Sulphurs heat,
And all that burns the Mind.

He fortifi`d the double Gate,
And rarely thither came,
For, with one Spark of these, he streight
All Nature could inflame.

Till, by vicinity so long,
A nearer Way they sought;
And, grown magnetically strong,
Into each other wrought.

Thus all his fewel did unite
To make one fire high:
None ever burn`d so hot, so bright:
And Celia that am I.

So we alone the happy rest,
Whilst all the World is poor,
And have within our Selves possest
All Love`s and Nature`s store.
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