How could such sweet and wholesome hours

An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart.

Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime.

Art indeed is long, but life is short.

For though the whole world cannot show such another, Yet we’d better by far have him than his brother.

The world in all doth but two nations bear — The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.

But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd 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