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John Wilmot - The Platonic Lady
Work rating: Medium

I could love thee till I die,
Would`st thou love me modestly,
And ne`er press, whilst I live,
For more than willingly I would give:
Which should sufficient be to prove
I`d understand the art of love.

I hate the thing is called enjoyment:
Besides it is a dull employment,
It cuts off all that`s life and fire
From that which may be termed desire;
Just like the bee whose sting is gone
Converts the owner to a drone.

I love a youth will give me leave
His body in my arms to wreathe;
To press him gently, and to kiss;
To sigh, and look with eyes that wish
For what, if I could once obtain,
I would neglect with flat disdain.

I`d give him liberty to toy
And play with me, and count it joy.
Our freedom should be full complete,
And nothing wanting but the feat.
Let`s practice, then, and we shall prove
These are the only sweets of love.
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