Ancient Person, for whom I <br />All the flattering youth defy, <br />Long be it e'er thou grow old, <br />Aching, shaking, crazy cold; <br />But still continue as thou art, <br />Ancient Person of my heart. <br /> <br />On thy withered lips and dry, <br />Which like barren furrows lie, <br />Brooding kisses I will pour, <br />Shall thy youthful heart restore, <br />Such kind show'rs in autumn fall, <br />And a second spring recall; <br />Nor from thee will ever part, <br />Ancient Person of my heart. <br /> <br />Thy nobler parts, which but to name <br />In our sex would be counted shame, <br />By ages frozen grasp possest, <br />From their ice shall be released, <br />And, soothed by my reviving hand, <br />In former warmth and vigour stand. <br />All a lover's wish can reach, <br />For thy joy my love shall teach; <br />And for thy pleasure shall improve <br />All that art can add to love. <br />Yet still I love thee without art, <br />Ancient Person of my heart.<br /><br />John Wilmot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-of-a-young-lady-to-her-ancient-lover/
