A Song Of A Young Lady To Her Ancient Lover by John Wilmot

Ancient Person, for whom I
All the flattering youth defy,
Long be it e'er thou grow old,
Aching, shaking, crazy cold;
But still continue as thou art,
Ancient Person of my heart.

On thy withered lips and dry,
Which like barren furrows lie,
Brooding kisses I will pour,
Shall thy youthful heart restore,
Such kind show'rs in autumn fall,
And a second spring recall;
Nor from thee will ever part,
Ancient Person of my heart.

Thy nobler parts, which but to name
In our sex would be counted shame,
By ages frozen grasp possest,
From their ice shall be released,
And, soothed by my reviving hand,
In former warmth and vigour stand.
All a lover's wish can reach,
For thy joy my love shall teach;
And for thy pleasure shall improve
All that art can add to love.
Yet still I love thee without art,
Ancient Person of my heart.

by John Wilmot

Other poems by 'John Wilmot'

By All Love's Soft, Yet Mighty Powers

The Imperfect Enjoyment

An Allusion to Horace

The Disabled Debauchee

Signior Dildo

I Cannot Change, As Others Do

Poems to Mulgrave and Scroope

A Ramble in St. James's Park

Constancy

My Dear Mistress Has a Heart

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