Unless They Get Mistresses
Sweet nymph, though thou art ever im my dreams
Methinks thou'dst break the heart of mortal man
Were he not fixed with tasks, and those in reams,
So that he dwelleth not upon your charms
Ah! The soft joy of exclamation marks!
The joy that I can find but in your arms
On balmy evenings in the Royal Parks,
Where, dear Dryad, thy soft breast bringeth calm
And limpidly, thy leaf-green eyes do scan
My very soul, which maketh me a man;
And, in the perfume of thy bark-brown hair,
Am lost - I am no more a man in there...
My sweet delusion's seldom what it seems,
For we are lovers only in my dreams
Contributors: | dkb, Hamish, Apsley, TG, fester. |
Poem finished: | 16th May 2000. |