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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=344350" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Coronet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=344350" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When for the Thorns with which I long, too long,<br>With many a piercing wound,<br>My Saviours head have crown'd,<br>I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:<br>Through every Garden, every Mead,<br>I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)<br>Dismantling all the fragrant Towers<br>That once adorn'd my Shepherdesses head.<br>And now when I have summ'd up all my store,<br>Thinking (so I my self deceive)<br>So rich a Chaplet thence to weave<br>As never yet the king of Glory wore:<br>Alas I find the Serpent old<br>That, twining in his speckled breast,<br>About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold,<br>With wreaths of Fame and Interest.<br>Ah, foolish Man, that would'st debase with them,<br>And mortal Glory, Heavens Diadem!<br>But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame,<br>Either his slipp'ry knots at once untie,<br>And disintangle all his winding Snare:<br>Or shatter too with him my curious frame:<br>And let these wither, so that he may die,<br>Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care.<br>That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread,<br>May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Andrew+Marvell">Andrew Marvell</a></strong></div>

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