Between Your Sheets

    Between your sheets you soundly sleep
    Nor dreams of vigils that we lovers keep
    While all the night, I waking sign your name,
    The tender sound does every nerve inflame,
    Imagination shows me all your charms,
    The plenteous silken hair, and waxen arms,
    The well turned neck, and snowy rising breast
    And all the beauties that supinely rest
    between your sheets.

    Ah Lindamira, could you see my heart,
    How fond, how true, how free from fraudful art,
    The warmest glances poorly do explain
    The eager wish, the melting throbbing pain
    Which through my very blood and soul I feel,
    Which you cannot believe nor I reveal,
    Which every metaphor must render less
    And yet (methinks) which I could well express
    between your sheets.