|
| The Extasie. |
|
| Where, like a pillow on a bed, |
| A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest |
| The violets declining head, |
| Sate we on one anothers breasts. |
| Our hands were firmly cimented |
| By a fast Balm, which thence did spring, |
| Our eye-beams twisted, and did thred |
| Our eyes upon one double string, |
| So to engraft our hands, as yet |
| Was all the means to make us one, |
| And pictures in our eyes to get |
| Was all our propagation. |
| As 'twixt two equal Armies, Fate |
| Suspends uncertain victory, |
| Our souls, (which to advance our state, |
| Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me. |
| And whil'st our souls negotiate there, |
| We like sepulchral statues lay, |
| All day, the same our postures were, |
| And we said nothing, all the day. |
| If any, so by love refin'd, |
| That he souls language understood, |
| And by good love were grown all mind, |
| Within convenient distance stood, |
| He (though he knew not which soul spake |
| Because both meant, both spake the same) |
| Might thence a new concoction take, |
| And part far purer than he came. |
| This extasie do unperplex |
| (We said) and tell us what we love,
|
[CW: We] |