Bravo for the acute accent on wingèd. Can't resist quoting a chunk:
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.
I'd like to request that time's wingèd chariot slow down a little.
Bravo for the acute accent on wingèd. Can't resist quoting a chunk:
I really wish I'd read it by the time I was 17. I'm sure it would have swayed Margaret Perkins more than I did on my own.
What girl can resist the idea of sex as birds ripping flesh off each other through an iron gate?