 | Poems upon several Occasions |  |
Begging a Kiss.
Bright Angel Form, impower'd aboveT' inspire the World below with Love,
The whole Creation's Beauty lies
Within the Circle of your Eyes;
Upon your Lips all Perfumes grow,
And od'rous Beds of Spices blow.
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With sparkling Joy dance o're the Brim,
Like Wine, whose sprightly Atoms pass
In nimble Leaps above the Glass:
Then drink from those dear Lips of thine
A Kiss, and pledge the Kiss from mine,
That my unquiet Flames may rest,
And rage no longer in my Breast.
O drink not from your Lips divine
A Kiss, nor pledge the Kiss from mine;
For that has such a scorching Pow'r,
It will inflame my Heart the more;
But with each short Return of Breath
Suck in my Soul, and give me Death;
Till all exhal'd, no scatter'd Wind,
Or wand'ring Atom's left behind.
Yet ah! forbear with pow'rful Breath
T' extract my Soul, and give me Death;
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I then shall be an airy Ghost,
An empty Shadow gliding o're
The Banks of Styx, or Lethe's Shore:
Ah! too too sad unlovely Soil;
Where Joy ne're dawns, no Pleasures smile;
Where Love ne're warms, nor can we find
A Mistress charm, or Beauty kind.
Yet, Dearest, once more I request
You'd suck my Soul out of my Breast,
And as our eager Lips we join,
I'll in soft Whispers call forth thine.
Then, like that Alchymist the Bee,
I to thy blooming Soul will flee,
And, thence extracting Life, devour
The Sweets of that immortal Flow'r.
Our Souls thus lost, pale Shades we'll go
To seek the Happy Dead below;
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With Joys rewarded now, and bless'd;
With them in Myrtle-Groves we'll stray,
Dissolve the Hours in gentle Play,
And bill, and kiss Eternity away.
Here Lesbia, and Catullus prove
The Sweets of Everlasting Love.
Their faded Lips so wan appear,
You'd swear Love's Ghost was wand'ring there;
But in those Shades such Passions reign,
So fierce a Rage they entertain,
They kiss the God to Life again.
And thus, my Fair One, we'll caress,
And wanton in soft Happiness.
Thus I all pale, and meager too,
Will there embrace, and kiss thee so,
The famous Chiefs for Love renown'd,
With fragrant Myrtle Chaplets crown'd,
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Themselves so much excell'd by Me,
That they shall all my Conquests own,
And with their Wreaths my Temples crown.
Then shall your Slave with Pride submit
To lay his Trophies at your Feet,
While to your Eyes stern Pluto's Realms shall bow,
And You shall reign a Queen of Love below.
| Poems upon several Occasions | |