Andrew marvells to his coy mistress

Wit, allusion and metaphor are all employed in what is a syllogism - a logical argument - that can be summed up in a short phrase: Life is too short, let's get it on before you and I decay.

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Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms' and prelates' rage: He gave us this eternal Spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air: He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vaults, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved 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. 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. But O, young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Do quickly make th' example yours; And ere we see, Nip in the blossom all our hopes and thee. Andrew Marvell. The latter phrase has been widely used as a euphemism for the grave, and has formed the title of several mystery novels. But what you in compassion ought, Shall now by my revenge be wrought: And flow'rs, and grass, and I and all, Will in one common ruin fall.

In conclusion, To His Coy Mistress explores the realm of human mortality, approaching the seriousness of this finite reality with humour, logic and ironic reflection.

Let's devour time before it devours us. In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames The wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What colour best becomes them, and what smell.

Yet this is she whose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe, See his bow broke and ensigns torn. Beauty will die. The future isn't that bright - her beauty will be lost in the sands of time - even worse, when she's dead and buried only the worms will experience what he presently longs for.

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Interestingly, frighteningly, the lovers themselves are exhorted to imitate birds of prey, which guzzle their food immediately, unlike "slow-chapped" slow-jawed time. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. 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-chapped power.

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Analysis of Poem "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell