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 unconfind
As its calm ravisher, the wind,
Who hath left his darling thEast,
To wanton oer that spicy nest.
Evry 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 oer-cloud in night;
Like the sun ins 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 others panting breast.
Here well strip and cool our fire
In cream below, in milk-baths higher:
And when all wells are drawn dry,
Ill 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.