O sweet wench ensoul’d, when you kiss, kiss you not lips…

O sweet wench ensoul’d, when you kiss, kiss you not lips,

No, nor with your lips, but with deep-delving eyes

Kiss my soul wet, and drench all there that lies;

Like heaven’s distill’d tears do earthly tulips!

What daemon I am, half god by soul, half mortal flesh;

Yet twice the god, half the man, kiss’d by thee,

Mason’d and weaken’d by your ensorcellery:

And where moulders flesh, twice-fired soul grows fresh:

As does slough go to make serpent glister new,

Or shed night to gloss heaven so sparkling view.


Allow then, O flesh, no cause that thou may’st fear,

Though fork-natured Fate come with his gift, foul or fair,

Thou smile out either hap, unaffright by defeat,

And, lo, he which mistrusts his conquests loses it;

As would oaken Fate where he finds thee dauntless,

Should he seek to breach your stockade; your lodger steel-enseal’d!

But O, the pity of it, that that close-conceal’d

Should wake the devil, and make him break our fortress!

For had thou ousted thy lesse and kept alone,

Fate had not come to make thy ruin his own!


But often men spare behind that would destroy them,

And that would save them uncharily condemn!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on May 14, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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