|
Poems about Erotica
|
A CERTAIN pious rector (John his name),
But little preached, except when vintage came;
A COUNTRYMAN, one day, his calf had lost,
And, seeking it, a neighbouring forest crossed;
A DEMON, blacker in his skin than heart,
So great a charm was prompted to impart;
DAME FORTUNE often loves a laugh to raise,
And, playing off her tricks and roguish ways,
Behold these woods, and mark my Sweet
How all these boughes together meet!
THE change of food enjoyment is to man;
In this, t'include the woman is my plan.
WHEN William went from home (a trader styled):
Six months his better half he left with child,
Oh, who art thou who darest of Love complain?
He is a gentle spirit and injures none!
WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts assail,
The rampart most secure is not the VEIL;
A FAMOUS painter, jealous of his wife;
Whose charms he valued more than fame or life,
FAMED Paris ne'er within its walls had got,
Such magick charms as were Aminta's lot,
AS o'er their wine one day, three gossips sat,
Discoursing various pranks in pleasant chat,
THE simple Jane was sent to bring
Fresh water from the neighb'ring spring;
At the time when the stars are grey,
And the gold of the molten moon
IN Lombardy's fair land, in days of yore,
Once dwelt a prince, of youthful charms, a store;
DIVERTING in extreme there is a play,
Which oft resumes its fascinating sway;
IN life oft ills from self-imprudence spring;
As proof, Candaules' story we will bring;
HOW weak is man! how changeable his mind!
His promises are naught, too oft we find;
I LATELY vowed to leave the nuns alone,
So oft their freaks have in my page been shown.
TO you, my friends, allow me to detail,
The feats of monks in Catalonia's vale,
Your strange hair, cold light, Has pale glows and blond dullness;
TO charms and philters, secret spells and prayers,
How many round attribute all their cares!
NEAR Rome, of yore, close to the Florence road,
Was seen a humble innkeeper's abode;
PAINTER in Paphos and Cythera famed
Depict, I pray, the absent Iris' face.
Like as a dryad, from her native bole
Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge,
NO master sage, nor orator I know,
Who can success, like gentle Cupid show;
EXAMPLE often proves of sov'reign use;
At other times it cherishes abuse;
Much wearied with her long and dreary way,
And now with toil and sorrow well nigh spent,
SOME wit, handsome form and gen'rous mind;
A triple engine prove in love we find;
When pleasure sparkles in the cup of youth,
And the gay hours on downy wing advance,
|
|
| |