Your being naughty, cool, and coy
Will twice revive me, thrice destroy,
And yet with ever-growing joy
Your company I'll crave
For at my back I often hear
The autumn wailings drawing near,
And blizzards hissing in my ear,
And whispers of the grave.
From Andy Marvell's unpublished drafts. Ёбаные метафизики.