Poems upon several occasions with a voyage to the Island of Love. By Mrs A. Behn |
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On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True-Loves Knot, given me by Sir R.O.
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 | Poems upon several occasions |  |
On a Locket of Hair Wove in a True-Loves Knot, given me by Sir R.O.
What means this Knot, in Mystick Order Ty'd,
And which no Humane Knowledge can divide?
Not the Great Conqu'rours Sword can this undo
Whose very Beauty would divert the Blow.
And which no Humane Knowledge can divide?
Not the Great Conqu'rours Sword can this undo
Whose very Beauty would divert the Blow.
Bright Relique! Shrouded in a Shrine of Gold!
Less Myst'ry made a Deity of Old.
Fair Charmer! Tell me by what pow'rful Spell
You into this Confused Order fell?
If Magick could be wrought on things Divine,
Some Amorous Sybil did thy Form design
In some soft hour, which the Prophetick Maid
In Nobler Mysteries of Love employ'd,
Wrought thee a Hieroglyphick, to express
The wanton God in all his Tenderness;
Thus shaded, and thus all adorn'd with Charms,
Harmless, Unfletch'd, without Offensive Arms,
He us'd of Old in shady Groves to Play,
E'er Swains broke Vows, or Nymphs were vain and coy,
Or Love himself had Wings to fly away.
Less Myst'ry made a Deity of Old.
Fair Charmer! Tell me by what pow'rful Spell
You into this Confused Order fell?
If Magick could be wrought on things Divine,
Some Amorous Sybil did thy Form design
In some soft hour, which the Prophetick Maid
In Nobler Mysteries of Love employ'd,
Wrought thee a Hieroglyphick, to express
The wanton God in all his Tenderness;
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Harmless, Unfletch'd, without Offensive Arms,
He us'd of Old in shady Groves to Play,
E'er Swains broke Vows, or Nymphs were vain and coy,
Or Love himself had Wings to fly away.
Or was it (his Almighty Pow'r to prove)
Design'd a Quiver for the God of Love?
And all these shining Hairs which th'inspir'd Maid
Has with such strange Mysterious Fancy laid,
Are meant his Shafts; the subt'lest surest Darts
That ever Conqu'red or Secur'd his Hearts;
Darts that such tender Passions do convey,
Not the young Wounder is more soft than they.
Design'd a Quiver for the God of Love?
And all these shining Hairs which th'inspir'd Maid
Has with such strange Mysterious Fancy laid,
Are meant his Shafts; the subt'lest surest Darts
That ever Conqu'red or Secur'd his Hearts;
Darts that such tender Passions do convey,
Not the young Wounder is more soft than they.
'Tis so; the Riddle I at last have learn'd:
But found it when I was too far concern'd.
But found it when I was too far concern'd.
| Poems upon several occasions | |