MARSTON.
She comes like—oh, no simile
Is precious, choice, or elegant enough
To illustrate her descent; leap, heart, she comes,—
She comes! smile, heaven, and, softest southern wind,
Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.
She comes; creation’s purity, admired,
Adored, amazing rarity,—she comes!
...
Mount, blood, soul, to my lips, taste Hebe’s cup;
Stand firm on deck, when beauty’s close fight’s up.
Antonio and Mellida.
If thou knew’st my happiness,
Thou wouldst even grate away thy soul to dust
In envy of my sweet beatitude:
I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest
For ladies’ letters that importune me
With such unusèd vehemence of love,
Straight to solicit them, that—
Antonio and Mellida.