Had we but World enough, and Time, <br />This coyness Lady were no crime. <br />We would sit down, and think which way <br />To walk, and pass our long Loves Day. <br />Thou by the Indian Ganges side. <br />Should'st Rubies find: I by the Tide <br />Of Humber would complain. I would <br />Love you ten years before the Flood: <br />And you should if you please refuse <br />Till the Conversion of the Jews. <br />My vegetable Love should grow <br />Vaster then Empires, and more slow. <br />An hundred years should go to praise <br />Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze. <br />Two hundred to adore each Breast. <br />But thirty thousand to the rest. <br />An Age at least to every part, <br />And the last Age should show your Heart. <br />For Lady you deserve this State; <br />Nor would I love at lower rate. <br />But at my back I alwaies hear <br />Times winged Charriot hurrying near: <br />And yonder all before us lye <br />Desarts of vast Eternity. <br />Thy Beauty shall no more be found; <br />Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound <br />My ecchoing Song: then Worms shall try <br />That long preserv'd Virginity: <br />And your quaint Honour turn to durst; <br />And into ashes all my Lust. <br />The Grave's a fine and private place, <br />But none I think do there embrace. <br />Now therefore, while the youthful hew <br />Sits on thy skin like morning glew, <br />And while thy willing Soul transpires <br />At every pore with instant Fires, <br />Now let us sport us while we may; <br />And now, like am'rous birds of prey, <br />Rather at once our Time devour, <br />Than languish in his slow-chapt pow'r. <br />Let us roll all our Strength, and all <br />Our sweetness, up into one Ball: <br />And tear our Pleasures with rough strife, <br />Thorough the Iron gates of Life. <br />Thus, though we cannot make our Sun <br />Stand still, yet we will make him run.<br /><br />Andrew Marvell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-his-coy-mistress/
