T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Merry Little Maid and Wicked Little Monk
Anonymous(From The Point of View) GOOD father, I have sent for you because | |
| I would not tamper with thy holy laws, | |
| And yet, I know that something is amiss, | |
| For when I see the youths and maidens kiss, | |
| I tremble and my very knees grow weak | 5 |
| Until my chamber I am forced to seek | |
| And there, with cheeks aflame, in floods of tears, | |
| I toss with strangely mingled hopes and fears. | |
| And, father, strange to say, throughout the night, | |
| Although my figure, as you see, is slight, | 10 |
| I dream I have a ripe, voluptuous form, | |
| And strong arms, ’round me, hold me close and warm, | |
| Until at last, at last, I blush to say, | |
| My very garments seem to melt away, | |
| Until, as nature clad me, there I stand, | 15 |
| The willing victim to a wandering hand. | |
| And at these times, when I seem not alone, | |
| The form that holds me is not like my own. | |
| It has not swelling globes, here, such as these, | |
| No sloping thighs nor rounded, dimpled knees, | 20 |
| And stranger still—pray, father, dear, draw near, | |
| The greatest difference seems to be—just—here. | |
| Dear father, should I pray and fast, in pain? | |
| Or sleep and dream those blissful dreams again? | |
| It seems not sin and yet my mirror shows | 25 |
| A face where shame and deepest color glows. | |
| Tell me, it is not wicked, father, dear, | |
| To find myself with new sensations, here. | |
| Ah! heaven! you burn, with fever too, it seems. | |
| Are you, as well, a prey to fitful dreams? | 30 |
| And once I dreamed far more than I have told. | |
| This handsome stranger once was overbold, | |
| And I will show thee, father, if I may, | |
| Just what was done. I could not but obey. | |
| The sun had set. The stars were in the sky, | 35 |
| And I was trembling, though I knew not why | |
| And here upon this couch, I lay, like this, | |
| When on my lips I felt a burning kiss. | |
| Yes! that is like it! Just the very same!!! | |
| My arms reached upward. I was not to blame. | 40 |
| For all my soul seemed hungering to feel | |
| The strange delight that made my senses reel. | |
| It seemed so strange that pleasure should be pain | |
| And yet I fain would suffer, once again. | |
| ’T was thus—and so—and ever did I strain | 45 |
| To meet, half way, the source of all my pain. | |
| My voice came, fitful—broken—just as now— | |
| I was not mistress of myself, I vow! | |
| I clasped the spirit visitor like this— | |
| Through all my veins, I felt his maddening kiss. | 50 |
| My pulse went wild—I knew not what was done— | |
| And—goodness gracious! * * * * * How that man can run! | |