Born in March 31, 1621 / Died in August 18, 1678 / United Kingdom / English
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.
Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.
But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
Time's winged chariot hurrying near.
Here thou art painted in the dress Of an inhuman murderess;...
Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.
And shew that Nature wants an Art To conquer one resolved Heart.
The forward Youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the Shadows sing His Numbers languishing.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,...
Like an enchantress here thou show'st, Vexing thy restless lover's ghost;...
Or shatter too with him my curious frame: And let these wither, so that he may die,...
The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Two Paradises t'were in one, to live in Paradise alone.
© Poemine.com | All of the information on this site has been reproduced for educational and informational purposes without charge.