Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
   Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
   To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
   The higher he’s a-getting;
The sooner will his race be run,
   And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,
   When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
   Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
   And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
   You may for ever tarry.

Next page > “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell...
Carpe Diem Poems collection > Table of Contents