Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen, <br />Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green: <br />She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed <br />By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast: <br />She saw the men eager, but was at a loss <br />What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; <br />By their praying and whining, <br />And clasping and twining, <br />And panting and wishing, <br />And sighing and kissing, <br />And sighing and kissing so close. <br /> <br />"Ah!" she cried, "ah, for a languishing maid <br />In a country of Christians to die without aid! <br />Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, <br />Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, <br />To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss <br />What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; <br />By their praying and whining, <br />And clasping and twining, <br />And panting and wishing, <br />And sighing and kissing, <br />And sighing and kissing so close." <br /> <br />Cupid in shape of a swain did appear; <br />He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near; <br />Then showed her his arrow, and bid her not fear, <br />For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear; <br />When the balm was infused, she was not at a loss <br />What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close; <br />By their praying and whining, <br />And clasping and twining, <br />And panting and wishing, <br />And sighing and kissing, <br />And sighing and kissing so close.<br /><br />John Dryden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-29/
