The Coy Mistress to Marvell

Had we but world enough and time
I could enjoy your wooing rhyme,
Relish each argument, and see
How you work out each simile.
But, Sir, your verse is full, I find,
Of loving of another kind;
Your vegetable loves have grown
To thrust your Mistress from her throne.
The Grass, you say, is lovelier far
Than damask cheeks and blushes are,
And Oranges you prize above
A more exacting sort of love.
Vainly your Mistress strives to please
A lover amorous of trees,
Who for his solace fain would go
Where Melon, Pear and Apple grow,
Where eager Peach and Nectarine
Throw themselves down among the green.
So pray, Sir, prate no more of love,
Seek for yourself a Citrus grove,
Pay your addresses to a tree,
And Lemon may your answer be.

-Mary Stewart