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 unconfin'd
As its calm ravisher, the
wind,
Who hath left his darling th'East,
To wanton o'er
that spicy nest.
Ev'ry 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
o'er-cloud in night;
Like the sun in's 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 other's panting breast.
Here we'll strip and cool our fire
In cream below, in
milk-baths higher:
And when all wells are drawn
dry,
I'll 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.