A Song of a Young Lady to her Ancient Lover
Ancient person, for whom I All the flattering youth defy, Long be it ere thou grow old, Aching, shaking, crazy, cold; But still continue as thou art, Ancient person of my heart. On thy withered lips and dry, Which like barren furrows lie, Brooding kisses I will pour Shall thy youthful [heat] restore (Such kind showers in autumn fall, And a second spring recall); Nor from thee will ever part, Ancient person of my heart. Thy nobler part, which but to name In our sex would be counted shame, By ageís frozen grasp possessed, From [his] ice shall be released, And soothed by my reviving hand, In former warmth and vigor stand. All a loverís wish can reach For thy joy my love shall teach, And for they pleasure shall improve All that art can add to love. Yet still I love thee without art, Ancient person of my heart.
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