O! let me have thee whole, – all, all, be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss – those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast –
Yourself – your soul – in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom’s atom or I die;
Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life’s purposes – the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!
ANONYMOUS
Against Platonic Love
’Tis true, fair Celia, that by thee I live;
That every kiss, and every fond embrace
Forms a new soul within me, and doth give
A balsam to the wound made by thy face.
Yet still methinks I miss
That bliss
Which lovers dare not name,
And only then described is
When flame doth meet with flame.
Those favours which do bless me every day
Are yet but empty and platonical.
Think not to please your servants with half pay.
Good gamesters never stick to throw at all.
Who can endure to miss
That bliss
Which lovers dare not name,
And only then described is
When flame doth meet with flame?
If all those sweets within you must remain,
Unknown and ne’er enjoyed, like hidden treasure,
Nature, as well as I, will lose her name,
And you as well as I lose youthful pleasure.
We wrong ourselves to miss
That bliss
Which lovers dare not name,
And only then described is
When flame doth meet with flame.
Our souls which long have peeped at one another
Out of the narrow casements of our eyes
Shall now by love conducted meet together
In secret caverns, where all pleasure lies.
There, there we shall not miss
That bliss
Which lovers dare not name,
And only then described is
When flame doth meet with flame.
ROBIN ROBERTSON
Trysts
meet me
where the sun goes down
meet me
in the cave, under the battleground
meet me
on the broken branch
meet me
in the shade, below the avalanche
meet me
under the witch’s spell
meet me
tonight, in the wishing well
meet me
on the famine lawn
meet me
in the eye of the firestorm
meet me
in your best shoes
and your favourite dress
meet me
on your own, in the wilderness
meet me
as my lover, as my only friend
meet me
on the river bed
THOMAS CAREW
from A Rapture
I will enjoy thee now, my Celia, come,
And fly with me to Love’s Elysium.
The giant, Honour, that keeps cowards out,
Is but a masquer, and the servile rout
Of baser subjects only bend in vain
To the vast idol; whilst the nobler train
Of valiant lovers daily sail between
The huge Colossus’ legs, and pass unseen
Unto the blissful shore. Be bold and wise,
And we shall enter: the grim Swiss denies
Only to tame fools a passage, that not know
He is but form and only frights in show
The duller eyes that look from far; draw near
And thou shalt scorn what we were wont to fear.
We shall see how the stalking pageant goes
With borrow’d legs, a heavy load to those
That made and bear him; not, as we once thought,
The seed of gods, but a weak model wrought
By greedy men, that seek to enclose the common,
And within private arms empale free woman.
Come, then, and mounted on the wings of Love
We’ll cut the flitting air and soar above
The monster’s head, and in the noblest seats
Of those blest shades quench and renew our heats.
There shall the queens of love and innocence,
Beauty and Nature, banish all offence
From our close ivy-twines; there I’ll behold
Thy bared snow and thy unbraided gold;
There my enfranchised hand on every side
Shall o’er thy naked polish’d ivory slide.
No curtain there, though of transparent lawn,
Shall be before thy virgin-treasure drawn;
But the rich mine, to the enquiring eye
Exposed, shall ready still for mintage lie,
And we will coin young Cupids. There a bed
Of roses and fresh myrtles shall be spread,
Under the cooler shade of cypress groves;
Our pillows of the down of Venus’ doves,
Whereon our panting limbs we’ll gently lay,
In the faint respites of our active play:
That so our slumbers may in dreams have leisure
To tell the nimble fancy our past pleasure,
And so our souls, that cannot be embraced,
Shall the embraces of our bodies taste.
Meanwhile the bubbling stream shall court the shore,
Th’ enamour’d chirping wood-choir shall adore
In varied tunes the deity of love;
The gentle blasts of western winds shall move
The trembling leaves, and through their close boughs breathe
Still music, whilst we rest ourselves beneath
Their dancing shade; till a soft murmur, sent
From souls entranced in amorous languishment,
Rouse us, and shoot into our veins fresh fire,
Till we in their sweet ecstasy expire.
Then, as the empty bee that lately bore
Into the common treasure all her store,
Flies ’bout the painted field with nimble wing,
Deflow’ring the fresh virgins of the spring,
So will I rifle all the sweets that dwell
In my delicious paradise, and swell
My bag with honey, drawn forth by the power
Of fervent kisses from each spicy flower.
I’ll seize the rose-buds in their perfumed bed,
The violet knots, like curious mazes spread
O’er all the garden, taste the ripen’d cherry,
The warm firm apple, tipp’d with coral berry:
Then will I visit with a wand’ring kiss
The vale of lilies and the bower of bliss;
And where the beauteous region doth divide
Into two milky ways, my lips shall slide
Down those smooth alleys, wearing as they go
A tract for lovers on the printed snow;
Thence climbing o’er the swelling Apennine,
Retire into thy grove of eglantine,
Where I will all those ravish’d sweets distil
Through Love’s alembic, and with chemic skill
From the mix’d mass one sovereign balm derive,
Then bring that great elixir to thy hive.
Now in more subtle wreaths I will entwine
My sinewy thighs, my legs and arms with thine;
Thou like a sea of milk shalt lie display’d,
Whilst I the smooth calm ocean invade
With such a tempest, as when Jove of old
Fell down on Danaë in a storm of gold;
Yet my tall pine shall in the Cyprian strait
Rid
e safe at anchor and unlade her freight:
My rudder with thy bold hand, like a tried
And skilful pilot, thou shalt steer, and guide
My bark into love’s channel, where it shall
Dance, as the bounding waves do rise or fall.
Then shall thy circling arms embrace and clip
My willing body, and thy balmy lip
Bathe me in juice of kisses, whose perfume
Like a religious incense shall consume,
And send up holy vapours to those powers
That bless our loves and crown our sportful hours,
That with such halcyon calmness fix our souls
In steadfast peace, as no affright controls.
There, no rude sounds shake us with sudden starts;
No jealous ears, when we unrip our hearts,
Suck our discourse in; no observing spies
This blush, that glance traduce; no envious eyes
Watch our close meetings; nor are we betray’d
To rivals by the bribed chambermaid.
No wedlock bonds unwreathe our twisted loves,
We seek no midnight arbour, no dark groves
To hide our kisses: there, the hated name
Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste or shame,
Are vain and empty words, whose very sound
Was never heard in the Elysian ground.
All things are lawful there, that may delight
Nature or unrestrained appetite;
Like and enjoy, to will and act is one:
We only sin when Love’s rites are not done.
BARNABE BARNES
Would I Were Changed
Jove, for Europa’s love, took shape of bull,
And, for Callisto, played Diana’s part,
And, in a golden shower, he filled full
The lap of Danaë with celestial art.
Would I were changed but to my mistress’ gloves,
That those white lovely fingers I might hide,
That I might kiss those hands, which mine heart loves,
Or else, that chain of pearl, her neck’s vain pride,
Made proud with her neck’s veins, that I might fold
About that lovely neck, and her paps tickle,
Or her to compass, like a belt of gold,
Or that sweet wine, which down her throat doth trickle,
To kiss her lips, and lie next to her heart,
Run through her veins, and pass by pleasure’s part.
ROBERT HERRICK
Upon Julia’s Clothes
When as in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave Vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
ANNE STEVENSON
Sous-entendu
Don’t think
that I don’t know
that as you talk to me
the hand of your mind
is inconspicuously
taking off my stocking,
moving in resourceful blindness
up along my thigh.
Don’t think
that I don’t know
that you know
everything I say
is a garment.
JOHN DONNE
Elegy: To His Mistress Going to Bed
Come, madam, come; all rest my powers defy;
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight
Is tired with standing, though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear
That th’ eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself: for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now ’tis your bed-time.
Off with that happy busk whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown’s going off such beauteous state reveals
As when from flow’ry meads th’ hill’s shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow.
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven’s angels used to be
Received by men: thou, angel, bring’st with thee
A heaven like Mohammed’s paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite:
They set our hairs, but these the flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Behind, before, above, between, below.
Oh my America, my new-found land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man manned,
My mine of precious stones, my empery;
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be,
Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are as Atlanta’s balls cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a gem
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings, made
For laymen, are all women thus arrayed,
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
Whom their imputed grace will dignify
Must see revealed. Then since I may know,
As liberally as to a midwife show
Thyself. Cast all, yea, this white linen hence;
There is no penance, much less innocence.
To teach thee I am naked first: why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?
EDWARD THOMAS
Will you come?
Will you come?
Will you ride
So late
At my side?
O, will you come?
Will you come?
Will you come
If the night
Has a moon,
Full and bright?
O, will you come?
Would you come?
Would you come?
If the noon
Gave light,
Not the moon?
Beautiful, would you come?
Would you have come?
Would you have come
Without scorning,
Had it been
Still morning?
Beloved, would you have come?
If you come
Haste and come.
Owls have cried;
It grows dark
To ride.
Beloved, beautiful, come.
Passionately
ROBERT JONES
And is it night? are they thine eyes that shine?
Are we alone, and here? and here, alone?
May I come near, may I but touch thy shrine?
Is jealousy asleep, and is he gone?
O Gods, no more! silence my lips with thine!
Lips, kisses, joys, hap, – blessings most divine!
Oh, come, my dear! our griefs are turned to night,
And night to joys; night blinds pale envy’s eyes;
Silence and sleep prepare us our delight;
Oh, cease we then our woes, our griefs, our cries:
Oh, vanish words! words do but passions move;
O dearest life! joy’s sweet! O sweetest love!
ROBERT BROWNING
Now
Out of your whole life give but a moment!
&n
bsp; All of your life that has gone before,
All to come after it, – so you ignore,
So you make perfect the present, – condense,
In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,
Thought and feeling and soul and sense –
Merged in a moment which gives me at last
You around me for once, you beneath me, above me –
Me – sure that despite of time future, time past, –
This tick of our life-time’s one moment you love me!
How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet –
The moment eternal – just that and no more –
When ecstasy’s utmost we clutch at the core
While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut and lips meet!
JACKIE KAY
High Land
I don’t remember who kissed who first,
who touched who first, who anything to whom.
All I remember in the highland night –
the sheep loose outside,
the full moon smoking in the sky –
was that you led me and I led you.
And all of a sudden we were in a small room
in a big house with the light coming in
and your legs open; mine too.
And it was this swirling, twirling thing.
It’s hard to fasten it down;
it is hard to remember what was what –
who was who when the wind was coming in.
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON
from Don Juan, Canto II
CLXXXVI
A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
And beauty, all concentrating like rays
Into one focus, kindled from above;
Such kisses as belong to early days,
Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
And the blood’s lava, and the pulse a blaze,
Each kiss a heart-quake, – for a kiss’s strength,
I think, it must be reckon’d by its length.
CLXXXVII
By length I mean duration; theirs endured
Heaven knows how long – no doubt they never
reckon’d;
And if they had, they could not have secured
The sum of their sensations to a second:
They had not spoken; but they felt allured,