33
With word of mouth, I asked for with my looks.
The simple Sylvia then,
Compassioning my pain,
Offered to give her help
To that pretended wound;
And oh! the real and the mortal wound,
Which pierced into my being,
When her lips came on mine.
Never did bee from flower
Suck sugar so divine,
As was the honey that I gathered then
From those twin roses fresh.
I could have bathed in them my burning kisses,
But fear and shame withheld
That too audacious fire,
And made them gently hang.
But while into my bosom's core, the sweetness,
Mixed with a secret poison, did go down,
The simple Sylvia then,
Compassioning my pain,
Offered to give her help
To that pretended wound;
And oh! the real and the mortal wound,
Which pierced into my being,
When her lips came on mine.
Never did bee from flower
Suck sugar so divine,
As was the honey that I gathered then
From those twin roses fresh.
I could have bathed in them my burning kisses,
But fear and shame withheld
That too audacious fire,
And made them gently hang.
But while into my bosom's core, the sweetness,
Mixed with a secret poison, did go down,
