T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
To Cytherea
By George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham (16281687)THE TRANSIENT reason let’s improve, | |
That human life allots to love; | |
Youth soon, my Cynthia! flies away, | |
And age assumes its frozen sway; | |
With elegance and neatness dressed, | 5 |
Come there, in beauty’s bloom confessed, | |
And in my fond embrace be blest! | |
Faint smugglings, but inflame desire, | |
And serve to fan the lover’s fire; | |
Then yield not all at once your charms, | 10 |
But with reluctance fill my arms: | |
My arms! that shall, with eager haste, | |
Encircle now your slender waist; | |
Now round your neck be careless hung, | |
And now o’er all your frame be flung: | 15 |
About your limbs my limbs I’ll twine, | |
And lay your glowing cheek to mine: | |
Close to my broad, manlier chest, | |
I’ll press thy firm, proud-swelling breast, | |
Now rising high, now falling low, | 20 |
As passion’s tide shall ebb, or flow: | |
My murmuring tongue shall speak my bliss, | |
Shall court your yielding lips to kiss; | |
Each kiss with thousands I’ll repay, | |
And almost suck your breath away: | 25 |
A thousand more you then shall give, | |
And then a thousand more receive; | |
In transport half-dissolved we’ll lie, | |
Venting our wishes in a sigh. | |
Quick-starting from me, now display | 30 |
Your loose and discomposed array: | |
Your hair shall o’er your polished brow, | |
In sweetly-wild disorder flow, | |
And those long tresses from behind, | |
You used in artful braids to bind, | 35 |
Shall down your snowy bosom spread | |
Redundant, in a softened shade; | |
And from your wishful eyes shall stream | |
The dewy light of passion’s flame: | |
While now and then a look shall glance, | 40 |
Your senses lost in amorous trance; | |
That fain my rudeness would remove, | |
Yet plainly tells how strong you love; | |
The roses heightened on your cheek, | |
Shall the fierce tide of rapture speak; | 45 |
And on your lips a warmer glow | |
The deepened ruby then shall show: | |
Your breast, replete with youthful fire, | |
Shall heave with tumults of desire; | |
Shall heave at thoughts of wished-for bliss, | 50 |
Springing as though ’twould meet my kiss: | |
Down on that heaven I’ll sink quite spent, | |
And lie in tender languishment; | |
But soon your charms’ reviving power, | |
Shall to my frame new life restore: | 55 |
With love I’ll then my pains assuage, | |
With kisses cool my wanton rage, | |
Hang o’er thy beauties till I cloy, | |
Then cease, and then renew my joy. | |