T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Geranium
By Richard Brinsley Sheridan (17511816)(1789) IN the close covert of a grove, | |
By nature formed for scenes of love, | |
Said Susan in a lucky hour, | |
Observe yon sweet geranium flower; | |
How straight upon its stalk it stands, | 5 |
And tempts our violating hands: | |
Whilst the soft bud as yet unspread, | |
Hangs down its pale declining head: | |
Yet, soon as it is ripe to blow, | |
The stems shall rise, the head shall glow. | 10 |
Nature, said I, my lovely Sue, | |
To all her followers lends a clue; | |
Her simple laws themselves explain, | |
As links of one continued chain; | |
For her the mysteries of creation, | 15 |
Are but the works of generation: | |
Yon blushing, strong, triumphant flower, | |
Is in the crisis of its power: | |
But short, alas! its vigorous reign, | |
He sheds his seed, and drops again; | 20 |
The bud that hangs in pale decay, | |
Feels not, as yet, the plastic ray; | |
To-morrow’s sun shall bid him rise, | |
Then, too, he sheds his seed and dies: | |
But words, my love, are vain and weak, | 25 |
For proof, let bright example speak; | |
Then straight before the wondering maid, | |
The tree of life I gently laid; | |
Observe, sweet Sue, his drooping head, | |
How pale, how languid, and how dead! | 30 |
Yet, let the sun of thy bright eyes, | |
Shine but a moment, it shall rise; | |
Let but the dew of thy soft hand | |
Refresh the stem, it straight shall stand: | |
Already, see, it swells, it grows, | 35 |
Its head is redder than the rose! | |
Its shrivelled fruit, of dusky hue, | |
Now glows, a present fit for Sue: | |
The balm of life each artery fills, | |
And in o’erflowing drops distils. | 40 |
“Oh me!” cried Susan, when is this? | |
What strange tumultuous throbs of bliss? | |
Sure, never mortal, till this hour, | |
Felt such emotion at a flower: | |
Oh, serpent! cunning to deceive, | 45 |
Sure, ’tis this tree that tempted Eve; | |
The crimson apples hang so fair, | |
Alas! what woman could forbear? | |
Well hast thou guessed, my love, I cried, | |
It is the tree by which she died; | 50 |
The tree which could alone content her, | |
All nature, Susan, seeks the centre; | |
Yet, let us still, poor Eve forgive, | |
It’s the tree by which we live; | |
For lovely woman still it grows, | 55 |
And in the centre only blows. | |
But chief for thee, it spreads its charms, | |
For paradise is in thy arms.— | |
I ceased, for nature kindly here | |
Began to whisper in her ear: | 60 |
And lovely Sue lay softly panting, | |
While the geranium tree was planting. | |
Till in the heat of am’rous strife, | |
She burst the mellow tree of life. | |
“Oh, heaven!” cried Susan, with a sigh, | 65 |
“The hour we taste,—we surely die; | |
Strange raptures seize my fainting frame, | |
And all my body glows with flame; | |
Yet let me snatch one parting kiss | |
To tell my love I die with bliss: | 70 |
That pleased, thy Susan yields her breath; | |
Oh! who would live if this be death!” | |