But at my back I always hear Time's winged 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 preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace.

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

Ye country comets, that portend No war, nor prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Than to presage the grasses fall. . . .

The world in all doth but two nations bear- The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.

Had we but world enough, and time, this coyness, lady, were no crime.

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds.

Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide.