Page 190 - Costellazioni 5
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ELLEN SPOLSKY, Sent Away from the Garden? The Pastoral Logic of Tasso, Marvell, and Haley


                     In early modern pastoral texts the pleasure of the countryside
                always needed to be argued because a stay in the countryside and
                an immersion in sensual pleasure was not, for protagonists or for au-
                diences, the unmarked case. City and court, even with their re-
                straints, were clearly their first choice. The green world affords only
                a temporary holiday though always an instructive one. Imagery and
                plot, however, do not have to focus on only the sexual comforts of
                the green world. Andrew Marvell’s poem “The Garden” (1650-52)
                begins by questioning the conventional and mistaken elevation of
                honor in civic society, and finds other pleasures outdoors.

                   How vainly men themselves amaze
                   To win the palm, the oak, or bays;
                   And their uncessant labours see
                   Crowned from some single herb or tree,
                   Whose short and narrow-vergèd Shade
                   Does prudently their toils upbraid;
                   While all flowers and all trees do close
                   To weave the Garlands of repose!

                   Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
                   And Innocence thy sister dear?
                   Mistaken long, I sought you then
                   In busy companies of men.
                   Your sacred plants, if here below,
                   Only among the plants will grow.
                   Society is all but rude,
                   To this delicious solitude.
                   * * * * * *
                   What wondrous life in this I lead!
                   Ripe apples drop about my head;
                   The luscious clusters of the vine
                   Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
                   The nectarine, and curious peach,
                   Into my hands themselves do reach;
                   Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
                   Ensnared with flowers, I fall on Grass.



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