As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.
My vegetable love will grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
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.
My love is of a birth as rare
As ’tis, for object, strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises ’twere in one
To live in paradise alone.
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-chapt power.
Had we but world enough, and time…