In your o'ergrown soul found! Make your great rut dispersedly rejoice With laugh or voice, As if all earth, hot sky and tremulous air A mighty cymbal were! XIX Set the great Flemish hour aflame! Your senses of all leisure maim! Cast down with blows that joy even where they hurt The hands that mock to avert! All things pick up to bed that lead ye to Be naked that ye woo! Tear up, pluck up, like earth who treasure seek, When the chest's ring doth peep, The thoughts that cover thoughts of the acts of heat This great day does intreat! Now seem all hands pressing the paps as if They meant them juice to give! Now seem all things pairing on one another, Hard flesh soft flesh to smother,
Prev.
Back
Top