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. 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.
Andrew MarvellAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: english
- Born: March 31, 1621
- Died: August 16, 1678