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To his coy mistress
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough, and time
This coyness, Lady, were no crim
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.
Sonnet 98
by William Shakespeare
From you have I been absent in the spring
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds
nor the sweet smell of different flowers
in order and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
One Cigarette
By Edwin Morgan
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left, your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal of so much love.
One cigarette in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire trembles up,
a sudden draught blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
（阿栀的晚安吻(*/∇＼*)）
“Good night”
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