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: : : I need to ysis this poem line-by-line (MEANING, symbols, why written) If any one knows this poem please help me out : : To his Coy Mistress : : by Andrew Marvell : : 1. : : Had we but world enough, and time, : : This coyness, lady, were no crime. : : We would sit down and think which way : : To walk, and p our long love's day; : : Thou by the Indian Ganges' side : : Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide : : Of Humber would complain. I would : : Love you ten years before the Flood; : : And you should, if you please, refuse : : Till the conversion of the Jews. : : My vegetable love should grow : : Vaster than empires, and more slow. : : An hundred years should go to praise : : Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; : : Two hundred to adore each , : : But thirty thousand to the rest; : : An age at least to every part, : : And the last age should show your heart. : : For, lady, you deserve this state, : : Nor would I love at lower rate. : : But at my back I always hear : : Time's winged chariot hurrying near; : : And yonder all before us lie : : Deserts of vast eternity. : : Thy beauty shall no more be found, : : Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound : : My echoing song; then worms shall try : : That long preserv'd ity, : : 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. : : 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 am'rous birds of prey, : : Rather at once our time devour, : : Than languish in his slow-chapp'd 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.

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