THE DEFINITION OF LOVEBy Andrew MarvellMY Love is of a birth as rareAs ’tis for object strange and high:It was begotten by despairUpon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair aloneCould show me so divine a thing,Where feeble Hope could ne’r have flownBut vainly flapt its Tinsel Wing.

And yet I quickly might arriveWhere my extended Soul is fixt,But Fate does Iron wedges drive,And alwaies crouds it self betwixt.

For Fate with jealous Eye does seeTwo perfect Loves; nor lets them close:Their union would her ruine be,And her Tyrannick pow’r depose.

And therefore her Decrees of SteelUs as the distant Poles have plac’d,(Though Loves 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 joyn, the World should allBe cramp’d into a Planisphere.

As Lines so Loves oblique may wellThemselves in every Angle greet:But ours so truly Paralel,Though infinite can never meet.

Therefore the Love which us doth bind,But Fate so enviously debarrs,Is the Conjunction of the Mind,And Opposition of the Stars.

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