love poem

Recitative .

As on a flowry bank young Thirsis lay;
Thirsis the young, the airy, and the gay,
Who lov'd fair Phaebe with a constant heart,
Devoid of flattery, and devoid of art;
By love inspir'd, he thus unloos'd his tongue,
And to the Cyprian deity he sung.

AIR

Goddess of the Cyprian grove,
Queen of beauty, queen of love;
To thy shrine behold I bend,

Bethink thee, love, what joy it is
When gales of passion blow,
If that fierce ecstasy of bliss
Two souls united know.

No noise of war, no thought of fear,
No shame shall make us part,
If once I take my dearest dear
And clasp her to my heart.

May Vulcan's chains be on us laid
When that glad hour has come,
Such as he erst in Lemnos made
Within his smithy home.

Together bound may it be mine
To press thee in my arms,
To feel thy hands about me twine
And know thy loving charms.

Again my lamp is burning dim,
Again the weary wick I trim,
And yet my sweet delays.
By the great queen of love she swore
To-night would see her at my door
But now she heedless stays.
Ah, would the flame that burns my breast
Might with my lamp sink soft to rest!

Fie on boys! In women's arms
We shall find more lasting charms.
Nor do I love the hair that shows
All too soon on cheeks of rose.
Youths have lost their beauty when
They begin to look like men.

Now you have thrown your pride away
And yielded to the Cyprian's dart,
I in your arms a captive stay,
Enfolded to your heart.

Body and soul together meet
And mingle in love's swelling wave,
Nor while I fell these fetters sweet
Shall I my freedom crave.

The blaze that scorched my flesh of old
Is quenched and dim: I die of cold.
Love's furnace panting in its greed
Has now but bones whereon to feed,
And my poor heart, to ashes turned,
Has naught within it left unburned.
E'en as some altar at the close of day,
Its victim spent, untended dies away.

Bold love has led me here;
So let me in, I pray,
If my love sleeps alone;
If not I'll go away.
And give this token of my passion true:
" Reeling with wine, through thieves I came to you."

The sound of Love still rings within my ears,
Still from my eyes in silence flow sweet tears,
Nor night nor day can give my anguish rest;
Love charms have fixed one thought within my breast.
O winged fancies, are your wings in vain,
Have you no strength to fly from me again?

The Night was dark, the rain fell fast,
The wind made sullen moan;
Too oft the wine cup round had passed
And I was all alone.
Yet Love was victor; I to Moschus came
And drenched and shivering called on his dear name.

But none gave answer: such return
He renders to my love.
How long, dear God! for thou didst learn
Thyself these pains to prove.
Ah would that he in grief might wander so
And ne'er a door for place of refuge know.

It is not love to love the fair
And feast one's eyes on beauty rare,
For beauty all men's gaze enthrals,
Nor for a lover's rapture calls.

Nay, he alone true love doth know
Who pays no heed to outward show,
And though his mistress homely be
Still finds in her the perfect she.