To His Coy Mistress

 This is a Carpe Diem poem!


 To His Coy Mistress is a metaphysical poem written by the British author and statesman Andrew Marvell (1621–1678) either during or just before the Interregnum.

Marvell probably wrote the poem prior to serving in Oliver Cromwell's government as a minister. The poem was not published in his lifetime.

Synopsis

The speaker of the poem addresses a woman who has been slow to respond to his sexual advances. In the first stanza he describes how he would love her if they had an unlimited amount of time. He could spend centuries admiring each part of her body and her refusal to comply would not faze him. In the second stanza, he remembers how short human life is. Once it is over, the opportunity to enjoy each other is gone because no one embraces in the grave. In the last stanza, the speaker urges the woman to comply, arguing that in loving each other with passion they will make the most of the short time they have to live.

Structure

The poem is written in iambic tetrameter and rhymes in couplets. The first stanza ("Had we...") is ten couplets long, the second ("But...") six, and the third ("Now therefore...") seven. The logical form of the poem runs: if... but... therefore...

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
Shouldst 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

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.

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 am'rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Source: wikipedia

Fernando Pessoa (1888 – 1935 Lisbon, Portugal)

Follow your destiny,

Water your plants,

Love your roses.

The rest is shadow

Of unknown trees.

Reality is always

More or less

Than what we want.

Only we are always

Equal to ourselves.

It’s good to live alone,

And noble and great

Always to live simply.

Leave pain on the altar

As an offering to the gods.

See life from a distance.

Never question it.

There’s nothing it can

Tell you. The answer

Lies beyond the Gods.

But quietly imitate

Olympus in your heart.

The gods are gods

Because they don’t think

About what they are.

 

Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

by Jack Prelutsky

Be glad your nose is on your face,

not pasted on some other place,

for if it were where it is not,

you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose

were sandwiched in between your toes,

that clearly would not be a treat,

for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

 

Your nose would be a source of dread

were it attached atop your head,

it soon would drive you to despair,

forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be

an absolute catastrophe,

for when you were obliged to sneeze,

your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,

remains between your eyes and chin,

not pasted on some other place--

be glad your nose is on your face!

 

Ae Fond Kiss

Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,

Never met-or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

 

I really love this four lines. I first know this poem when I was in university (again!). How true it is!!

A fond kiss and then we part ....
broken-hearted?

Will this fond kiss one day be only just a kiss, a fond kiss?

It is just the matter of time then!

 Robert Burns (1759-1796)

This article is about the Scottish folk song. For the film of the same name, see Ae Fond Kiss ...

The Scots song "Ae Fond Kiss, and Then We Sever", by Robert Burns, is more commonly known as "Ae Fond Kiss". The song is Burns' most recorded song.


Lyrics: Written in a letter to Agnes M'Lehose, or 'Clarinda', (also known as 'Nancy' to her friends) in December 1791, when she left Burns, and Scotland, to follow her husband to Jamaica to try to save her marriage.










Ae Fond Kiss
Robert Burns


Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, and then for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.


I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.


Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.



Source: wikipedia

Sonnet 24 (William Shakespeare)

Shakespeare's Sonnet 24 treats the commonplace Renaissance conceit connecting heart and eye. Though it relates to other sonnets that explore this theme, Sonnet 24 is considered largely imitative and conventional.


This video: Sonnet no 24: By William Shakespeare Read by: Bertram Selwyn (Bernard Shakespeare)

Sonnet 24

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath steel'd,

Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,

And perspective it is best painter's art.

For through the painter must you see his skill,

To find where your true image pictur'd lies,

Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,

That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.

Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:

Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me

Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun

Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,

They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

–William Shakespeare –

Paraphrase

The sonnet may be paraphrased thus:

Like a painter, my eye has drawn your image on my heart, with my body as the frame. To paint in due proportion is the greatest skill of a painter, and only through this painter (that is, my eye) may you see the image of you that has been created in my heart. Your eyes, indeed, are the windows into my own. Now, consider what mutual benefit our eyes have brought each other. My eyes drew you, and your eyes are windows through which I can see my own heart, windows the sun delights to shine through in order to see you. Yet eyes, unfortunately, can draw only what they see, not the emotions invested in those perceived objects.

Source: wikipedia

Death by John Donne

"Death", the word that is not pleasant to hear. Why this word is so powerful and that we all fear of when he comes and takes those whom we love or even us away? Young people tend to be not afraid of him regardless of their ages, but who know when he will come and our time on earth stops. When we grow old, it seems like we think about him more. That's just the matter of the number!

Death, he is with us since the first breath we breathe! Like it is said that every step we walk, one of our legs is in hell. He comes to us without warning. It is so fast but if you are blessed, it's just like you sleep.

Oh Death, could please give us more time?

We can't say that it's not fair. When you were born, you cannot choose who and where you want to be either! Just to know that we were born human is blessed already. But then again we really don't know, so live your life worthly now!

"Death" by John Donne. I studied this poem when I was in university. "Death" in what he wrote is not dreadful and that we should not fear of, for once when we die there'll be no more pain nor death but eternal life ......

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.

From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,

Much pleasure, then from thee much more

must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do go -

Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and

desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And Death shall be no more:

Death, thou shalt die!

John Donne's biography:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Donne