Poems and Essays

by Joseph Howe


 

OH! IT WOULD MORE THAN TRANSPORT BE.


 

Oh! it would more than transport be,
    That light and airy form to press
At midnight hour, when none but me
    Were near to own its loveliness.

While all those rapture-giving charms,
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    Which well might lead a Saint astray,
Were circled in these trembling arms,
    Or on this beating bosom lay.

To meet that eye’s warm, glowing glance,
    To feel that cheek on me recline,
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And, to complete the blissful trance,
    Your sweet lips gently press’d to mine. [Page 125]

Oh! Pleasure should our Idol be,
    And Love would every Joy refine—
Our sighs, breathed short and rapturously,
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    The incense offered at her Shrine.

To pass an hour of bliss—of love—
    Of rapture—on that beauteous breast;
Oh! nought on Earth and nought above
    Can form so sweet a place for rest.
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While Cynthia’s mild and soft’ning beam
    Would heightened all our ecstacies;
For never shone her silver gleam
    On fairer form or brighter eyes.

Oh! let the Eastern Sages tell
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    Of Joys their Paradise contains,
Where Love and Peace together dwell,
    And ever-varying Pleasure reigns.

Where all is fresh—and fair—and light,
    While sweetest fragrance fills the air,
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And all that’s beautiful and bright
    Is delicately mingled there.

To me your eyes are brighter still,
    And what so fragrant as your sighs?
Let Orientals dream at will,
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    Thy breast shall be my Paradise. [Page 126]