To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world
enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were
no crime.
We would sit down, and
think which way
To walk, and pass our
long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian
Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I
by the tide
Of Humber would
complain. I would
Love you ten years
before the flood,
And you should, if you
please, refuse
Till the conversion of
the Jews.
My vegetable love
would grow
Vaster than empires,
and more slow;
An hundred years
should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy
forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore
each breast,
But thirty thousand to
the rest;
An age at least to every
part,
And the last age should
show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve
this state,
Nor would I love at
lower rate.
But at my back I always
hear
Time’s winged chariot
hurrying near:
And yonder all before us
lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no
more be found;
Nor, in thy marble
vaults, shall sound
My echoing song; then
worms shall try
That long-preserved
virginity,
And your quaint honour
turn to dust,
And into ashes all my
lust:
The grave’s a fine and
private place,
But none, I think, do
there embrace.
Now therefore, while
the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like
morning dew,
And while thy willing
soul transpires
At every pore with
instant fires,
Now let us sport us
while we may,
And now, like amorous
birds of prey,
Rather at once our time
devour
Than languish in his
slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our
strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into
one ball,
And tear our pleasure
with rough strife
Through the iron gates
of life:
Thus, though we cannot
make our sun
Stand still, yet we will
make him run.

ANDREW MARVELL (1621-1676)

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About cfunpage (SIGNOR CHARLES)

I'm Charles, I'm 19. I'm a Geology student of the University of Port Harcourt,Nigeria. I'm a free thinker, I love to read and I write also. I love creativity and the power of imagination.
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