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 our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Thus, while we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept their time.

What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head.

Self-preservation, nature's first great law, all the creatures, except man, doth awe.

My love is of a birth as rare As 'tis, for object, strange and high; It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours be reckoned, but in herbs and flowers?