Classic Poem

Neaera's Lips

The dews of night fall softly on the rose,
That to the purple morning it may shine:
So bloom thy lips at morn, sweet lady mine,
Freshened with my soft kisses, while night goes;
Lips, that fair favours of white snow enclose,
As round a violet fair, white hands may twine;
So spring and summer on one tree combine,
When 'neath late flowers one flushing cherry shows.

Woe's me! that when my kisses are most sweet,
From thine embraces I must banished be:
Woe's me! still let thy lips' bright beauty greet
All stilly night my fond return to thee?
But if false, alien kisses they entreat,
Pale wax they! even as passion wasteth me.English