To A Coy Bed
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, dear bed, were no crime.
We would lie down, and think which way
To snooze, and pass our long love’s day.
Within the covers what’ll I find;
A bundle where mines and yours ‘tertwined,
Of warmth and comfort. I can’t deny,
I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried,
And you should, if you please, refuse.
You drag me down from all my dues,
But even then what you provide
Is better than friends. More I’ve relied
On your gift, REM. Of hours and hours
In dreams, I lie in beds of flowers.
The prime climate where I may lie
Where I explore, run far, and fly.
Two hundred to adore each crevice,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every soft
Spot, Last age should show your warm heart.
For, bed, love, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And gifts of life I’ve yet to find
Where I must leave my bed behind.
The joy in you, no more be found;
Nor, in thy ruffled covers shall sound
My echoing snore; no others will try.
My bed forgotten; lost is its cry,
And our connection turns to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave’s a fine and private place,
My coffin’ll be where you’re replaced.
Now therefore, while I’ve yet to go,
Before I’m off to lands of snow,
And while your rusty frame still holds,
Aged blankets still most filled with gold.
Let us now sport then while we may.
And now, like lazy sloths in day,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let me lose all my worries in all.
As I curl in a loving ball,
And ready myself for a long dream,
To delve into pearly gates that gleam.
Turned off my ‘larm for now I dive,
And (a)wait the downfall at sun rise.