Coy mistress

If we had but world enough and time 
This coyness mistress would be no crime 
I would spend a thousand years to adore each breast 
And a considerably longer amount for all the rest 

But time's winged chariot is ever at our back 
And its long skanky finger will go smack, smack, smack 

The grave's a fine and private place 
But none I think do there embrace 
So let us take all our sweetness and wrap it up into one ball 
And thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still 
Yet we shall make him run!