The Second Rapture

[monk222]

♠
Here is one of the funner poems that Monk has come across, and it will be good to lighten the tone after all that news on the Middle East and the Christianism at home.

___ ___ ___

The Second Rapture
by
Thomas Carew
(1594-1640)

No, worlding, no, 'tis not thy gold,
Which thou dost use but to behold;
Nor fortune, honour, nor long life,
Children, or friends, nor a good wife,
That makes thee happy: these things be
But shadows of felicity.
Give me a wench about thirteen,
Already voted to the queen
Of lust and lovers; whose soft hair,
Fann'd with the breath of gentle air,
O'erspreads her shoulders like a tent,
And is her veil and ornament;
Whose tender touch will make the blood
Wild in the aged and the good;
Whose kisses, fast'ned to the mouth
Of threescore years and longer slouth,
Renew the age; and whose bright eye
Obscures those lesser lights of sky;
Whose snowy breasts (if we may call
That snow, that never melts at all)
Makes Jove invent a new disguise,
In spite of Juno's jealousies;
Whose every part doth re-invite
The old decayed appetite;
And in whose sweet embrace I
May melt myself to lust, and die.

This is true bliss, and I confess
There is no other happiness.

xXx