I. <br /> Amarantha sweet and faire, <br />Ah brade no more that shining haire! <br /> As my curious hand or eye, <br />Hovering round thee, let it flye. <br /> <br /> II. <br /> Let it flye as unconfin'd <br />As it's calme ravisher, the winde, <br /> Who hath left his darling, th' East, <br />To wanton o're that spicie neast. <br /> <br /> III. <br /> Ev'ry tresse must be confest: <br />But neatly tangled at the best; <br /> Like a clue of golden thread, <br />Most excellently ravelled. <br /> <br /> IV. <br /> Doe not then winde up that light <br />In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night, <br /> Like the sun in's early ray; <br />But shake your head, and scatter day. <br /> <br /> V. <br /> See, 'tis broke! within this grove, <br />The bower and the walkes of love, <br /> Weary lye we downe and rest, <br />And fanne each other's panting breast. <br /> <br /> VI. <br /> Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire, <br />In creame below, in milk-baths higher: <br /> And when all wells are drawne dry, <br />I'll drink a teare out of thine eye. <br /> <br /> VII. <br /> Which our very joys shall leave, <br />That sorrowes thus we can deceive; <br /> Or our very sorrowes weepe, <br />That joyes so ripe so little keepe.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-amarantha-that-she-would-dishevell-her-haire-2/
