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 should 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 wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, 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 pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
'To his coy mistress is a love poem by Andrew Marvell.
In the first stanza, the speaker tells his beloved how much he adores her, declaring that, if he had all the time in the world, he would spend it worshipping her body. Lover wants to think how can they pass their love's day. Lover says that hundred years will pass only to praise his beloved's eyes and Two hundred years in praising her each breast.
In the second stanza, the tone of the poem changes, and the speaker states that they don't have all the time in the world and that he would to see her die a virgin. He can hear chariot of time coming near. Poet says that beauty will not remain after time, his love songs will be no more, his lust will turn into ashes. Grave is personal place and there they can not make love. Poet wants to say that it is time to love.
In the third and final stanza, the speaker complete his argument by effectively stating that they won't be young forever and should take advantage of it while they can. It is youthful days and they should make love.
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 should 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 wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, 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 pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
'To his coy mistress is a love poem by Andrew Marvell.
In the first stanza, the speaker tells his beloved how much he adores her, declaring that, if he had all the time in the world, he would spend it worshipping her body. Lover wants to think how can they pass their love's day. Lover says that hundred years will pass only to praise his beloved's eyes and Two hundred years in praising her each breast.
In the second stanza, the tone of the poem changes, and the speaker states that they don't have all the time in the world and that he would to see her die a virgin. He can hear chariot of time coming near. Poet says that beauty will not remain after time, his love songs will be no more, his lust will turn into ashes. Grave is personal place and there they can not make love. Poet wants to say that it is time to love.
In the third and final stanza, the speaker complete his argument by effectively stating that they won't be young forever and should take advantage of it while they can. It is youthful days and they should make love.
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