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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.
Source: To His Coy Mistress.
-- Andrew Marvell, (Mar 31 1621-1678), English poet; His political reputation overshadowed his poetry until the 20th C; considered to be one of the best secular metaphysical poets.