As Chloris full of harmless thought
Beneath the willows lay,
Kind love a comely shepherd brought
To pass the time away.
She blushed to be encountered so
And chid the amorous swain,
But as she strove to rise and go,
He pulled her back again.
A sudden passion seized her heart
In spite of her disdain;
She found a pulse in every part,
And love in every vein.
“Ah, youth!” quoth she, “What charms are these
That conquer and surprise?
Ah, let me—for unless you please,
I have no power to rise.”
She faintly spoke, and trembling lay,
For fear he should comply,
But virgins’ eyes their hearts betray
And give their tongues the lie.
Thus she, who princes had denied
With all their pompous train,
Was in the lucky minute tried
And yielded to the swain.
Beneath the willows lay,
Kind love a comely shepherd brought
To pass the time away.
She blushed to be encountered so
And chid the amorous swain,
But as she strove to rise and go,
He pulled her back again.
A sudden passion seized her heart
In spite of her disdain;
She found a pulse in every part,
And love in every vein.
“Ah, youth!” quoth she, “What charms are these
That conquer and surprise?
Ah, let me—for unless you please,
I have no power to rise.”
She faintly spoke, and trembling lay,
For fear he should comply,
But virgins’ eyes their hearts betray
And give their tongues the lie.
Thus she, who princes had denied
With all their pompous train,
Was in the lucky minute tried
And yielded to the swain.
—John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
circa 1676
3 comments:
Here's a love poem (sorta) by Catullus. He has a similar one about men, so don't rush to call him a sexist cynic; he's more of an all-inclusive cynic.
Nulli se dicit mulier mea nubere malle
quam mihi. Non si se Iupiter ipse petat,
dicit. Sed mulier cupido dicit amanti
in vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.
My lover says that she'd prefer to be married to no one but me; not even if Jupiter himself should seek her, she declares. But what a woman says to her lover you could write on the wind or on swift water.
My love poems are of love lost it seems:
I think of you often
we weren't so long ago
my eyes begin to soften
tears of memory to flow.
Scott Minshull
I like Scott's better than Catullus'! :-)
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