17

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
Should'st 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
Times wingèd chariot hurrying near
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor in the marble vault shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That longed preserved virginity,
And your quaint honor 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 the skin like morning glew
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport while we may
And now like amourous 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.

 

ANDREW MARVELL
(1621-1678)

Dagens digt er valgt af Catrine Werchmeister