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Amarantha
sweet and fair
Ah braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee let it
fly.
Let it fly as unconfin'd
As its calm
ravisher, the wind,
Who hath left his darling th'East,
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.
Ev'ry tress must
be confest
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a
clue of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.
Do not then wind up that light
In ribands, and
o'er-cloud in night;
Like the sun in's early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.
See 'tis
broke! Within this grove
The bower, and the walks of
love,
Weary lie we down and rest,
And fan each
other's panting breast.
Here we'll strip and cool
our fire
In cream below, in milk-baths higher:
And
when all wells are drawn dry,
I'll drink a tear out
of thine eye,
Which our very joys shall leave
That sorrows thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrows
weep,
That joys so ripe, so little keep.
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