T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Bower of Bliss
By Robert Burns (1759–1796)(An old Scots countryside song. From The Merry Muses of Caledonia, c. 1800) |
WHILST others to thy bosom rise | |
| And paint the glories of thine eyes; | |
| Or bid thy lips and cheeks disclose | |
| The unfading bloom of Eden’s rose; | |
| Which fell, not fear we most admire, | 5 |
| Less obvious charms, not less divine, | |
| I sing that lovely bower of thine. | |
| Rich gems worth India’s wealth alone, | |
| How much pursued, how little known; | |
| Tho’ rough its face, tho’ dim its hue, | 10 |
| It soils the lustre of Peru. | |
| The vet’ran such a prize to gain, | |
| Might all the toils of war sustain; | |
| A devotee forsake his shrine | |
| To venerate that bower of thine. | 15 |
| When the stung heart feels keen desire, | |
| And through each vein pours liquid fire; | |
| When with flush’d cheeks and burning eyes, | |
| Thy lover to thy bosom flies; | |
| Believe, dear maid, believe my vow, | 20 |
| By Venus’ self, I swear, ’tis true, | |
| More bright the higher beauties shine, | |
| Ilium’d by that strange bower of thine. | |
| What thought sublime, what lofty strains | |
| Its wondrous virtues can explain? | 25 |
| No place, howe’er remote, can be | |
| From its intense attraction free. | |
| Tho’ more elastic far than steel, | |
| Its force ten thousand needles feel; | |
| Pleas’d their high temper to resign | 30 |
| In that magnetic bower of thine. | |
| Irriguous vale, embrown’d with shades, | |
| Which no intrinsic storm pervades! | |
| Soft clime, where native summer glows, | |
| And nectar’s living current flows! | 35 |
| Not Tempe’s vale, renoun’d of yore, | |
| Of charms could boast such endless store; | |
| More than Elysian sweets combine | |
| To grace that smiling bower of thine? | |
| O may no rash invader stain | 40 |
| Love’s warm, sequestered virgin fane! | |
| For me alone let gentle fate | |
| Reserve the dear august retreat! | |
| Along its banks when shall I stray? | |
| Its beauteous landscape when survey? | 45 |
| How long in fruitless anguish pine | |
| Nor view unveil’d that bower of thine? | |
| O! let my tender trembling hand | |
| The awful gate of life expand! | |
| With all its wonders feast my sight) | 50 |
| Dear prelude to immense delight! | |
| Till plung’d in liquid joy profound, | |
| The dark unfathom’d deep I sound; | |
| All panting on thy breast recline, | |
| And, murmuring, bless that bower of thine. | 55 |