MY Love is of a birth as rare
As tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ner
But vainly flapt its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended Soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges
And always crowds it self betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close:
Their union would
her ruin be,
And her Tyrannic powr depose.
And therefore her Decrees of Steel
Us as the distant Poles have placd,
(Though Loves whole
World on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embracd.
Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new Convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the World
Be crampd into a Planisphere.
As Lines so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every Angle greet:
But ours so truly Parallel,
infinite can never meet.
Therefore the Love which us doth bind
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the Conjunction of the
And Opposition of the Stars.
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 loves day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges side
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;
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
Times wingàed chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
into ashes all my lust:
The graves a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
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-chapt1 power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we
cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
SEE with what simplicity
This nymph begins her golden days!
In the green grass she loves
And there with her fair aspect tames
The wilder flowers, and gives them names;
But only with the
And them does tell
What colour best becomes them, and what smell.
Who can foretell for what high cause
This darling of the gods was born?
Yet this is she whose
The wanton Love shall one day fear,
And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke
and ensigns torn.
Happy who can
Appease this virtuous enemy of man!
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