Monday, April 27, 2009

Fragonard Confession of Love

To his Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass 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 breast,
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 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.

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.


The Wanderers' Daughter said...

Ah, Fragonard. You either love him or loath him. My mother was always disdainful, but I have to say I have a love-hate relationship with the excesses and fripperies of Fragonard.

willow said...

This poem fits the Fragonard like a glove.

ElizaJay said...

what a lovely lady you are, how perfectly and wondrously do you allow the words drip themselves across the page... one of my favourite poems with my favourite art. you seem so serene and wistful while contemplative and deep.

distracted by shiny objects said...

Love your place here and thanks for your comments over my way. I'm going to need to take some time and read your sidebar info and links. I'm thinking tomorrow morning. Coffee. Musings. :>)

Snowbrush said...

The poem and the painting are Baroque, I suspect (pardon my ignorance), and I do love most all things Baroque.

I had to enlarge the painting before I noticed the papillon.

Paperface said...

Amazing blog!

maddie said...

such a poetic gust to begin my
day beautiful girl:)

poetry, coffee, birds singing,
the sky greeting the sun

perfectly perfect in every way:)

Renee said...

I forgot to say I love your new banner.