Love Sonnet 226

Time nary waits for us or for our love:
Like rose that wilts, or song that can grow old,
Or coals that glow like even stars above,
But sooner fade or dim, and can grow cold;

Not one thing stays; Should love a mountain be,
It's moved by faith, the size of mustard seed,
And forests chose where else to bring each tree,
No mind is set, as it could change its creed;

And yet, without time's gross impatience still,
Too fickle are some hearts to wait for long
Beyond hope's prime dominion to fulfill,
When just so near, it's easy to belong;
. . . . So hurry with that kiss and warm embrace,
. . . . We can't wait either, let's give Time a race.