Warmth of Feeling
Fair lady be not austere,
Adorn thyself with rich dressings,
Take care thy salad days gone afore,
Where thou ballet with twist and zealing.
Mayhap just one, i should hope,
Oft would burst forth such soft light,
Basking in such besottedness, par amour.
Salvaged from th' ravages of thy plight.
Lackaday, too many held too frail,
Now no more to nurse and thrill.
Ifsoever thy come forth willing,
Come prepared not, come undone,
Revel in this warmth of feeling,
For th' good of lovers; prithee, just one.
|