Sir George Etherege: To a Lady asking him how long he would love her
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To a Lady asking him how long he would love her

1635-1691


IT is not, Celia, in our power
         To say how long our love will last;
It may be we within this hour
         May lose those joys we now do taste;
The Blessed, that immortal be,
From change in love are only free.

Then since we mortal lovers are,
         Ask not how long our love will last;
But while it does, let us take care
         Each minute be with pleasure past:
Were it not madness to deny
To live because we're sure to die?


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