Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would talk long and kill the day
and for night long, ask you to stay.
Taking walks on a sunny day,
we would lay down on heaves of hay.
A beauty like yours is not to be found
in a square’s angle and a circle’s round.
A gaze from you from miles afar
would slaughter men – wage a war.
Let alone be your eyes and gaze,
look at me in a hundred ways.
At the horizon when the sun has set
and the darkness has cast its net –
a sight of you is much to see,
the gazers: guilty they plea.
Resting your hand on that chin of yours,
you have me put aside all my chores.
Do you, my lady, deserve this state
of being loved at a lower rate?
I would love you till my grave is dug –
feeds on my rotting flesh the night-loving bug.
And when the night would fall in all its prime,
I would fill our glasses with well-preserved wine,
the filled glasses, with each other, would clink,
nearer to you, my lips, I would thoughtfully bring.
And if you should shy away – a bud of rose,
I would assume it’s the fate which chose,
to bring me near to you at this hour
free will against fate has, but little power.
The graves are a decorated place
but no lovers there are found to graze.
So while we have this youthful glow –
the river in its prime has its flow,
let’s swim in it for miles together,
in the calm air and stormy weather.
Time, my love, holds the final cure –
a pyre for me, a grave for you, I’m sure –
and then it shall end all our woes,
Vonnegut says: So It Goes.
So let us unroll our beds – lay down on it,
and let our mortal bodies in each other fit –
tire ourselves and sweat out,
like a battle well fought;
victory would be ours, I proclaim thus,
if only my love you do not make a fuss.