The poem is an argument for seizing the moment and enjoying physical love now rather than waiting, as the speaker fears time is fleeting and their beauty and lives will not last. He persuades his coy mistress that they should make love intensely now rather than waiting or languishing as time passes inevitably.
The poem is an argument for seizing the moment and enjoying physical love now rather than waiting, as the speaker fears time is fleeting and their beauty and lives will not last. He persuades his coy mistress that they should make love intensely now rather than waiting or languishing as time passes inevitably.
The poem is an argument for seizing the moment and enjoying physical love now rather than waiting, as the speaker fears time is fleeting and their beauty and lives will not last. He persuades his coy mistress that they should make love intensely now rather than waiting or languishing as time passes inevitably.
The poem is an argument for seizing the moment and enjoying physical love now rather than waiting, as the speaker fears time is fleeting and their beauty and lives will not last. He persuades his coy mistress that they should make love intensely now rather than waiting or languishing as time passes inevitably.
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To His Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time, And your quaint honour turn to dust; This coyness, Lady, were no crime. And into ashes all my lust. We would sit down, and think which way The grave’s a fine and private place, To walk, and pass our long love’s day. But none, I think, do there embrace. Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side Now therefore, while the youthful hue Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Sits on thy skin like morning dew, Of Humber would complain. I would And while thy willing soul transpires Love you ten years before the flood: At every pore with instant fires, And you should, if you please, refuse Now let us sport us while we may, Till the conversion of the Jews. And now, like amorous birds of prey, My vegetable love should grow Rather at once our time devour, Vaster than empires and more slow. Than languish in his slow-chapped power. An hundred years should go to praise Let us roll all our strength, and all Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze. Our sweetness, up into one ball: Two hundred to adore each breast: And tear our pleasures with rough strife, But thirty thousand to the rest. Thorough the iron grates of life. An age at least to every part, Thus, though we cannot make our sun And the last age should show your heart: Stand still, yet we will make him run. 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: LIT 201
