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.

And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.

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.

He nothing common did, or mean, / Upon that memorable scene, / But with his keener eye / The axe's edge did try.

Annihilating all that's made, To a green thought in a green shade.

My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow.

Art indeed is long, but life is short.