06.05.2007, 21:28
When night's black mantle could most darkness prove,
And sleep (death's image) did my senses hire
From knowledge of myself, then thoughts did move
Swifter than those, most switness need require.
In sleep, a chariot drawn by wing'd Desire,
I saw, where sate bright Venus, Queen of love,
And at her feet her son, still adding fire
To burning hearts, which she did hold above.
But one heart flaming more than all the rest,
The goddess held, and put it to my breast.
Dear Son, now shoot, she said, this must we win.
He her obeyed, and martyr'd my poor heart.
I waking hop'd as dreams it would depart,
Yet since, O me, a lover have I been.
And sleep (death's image) did my senses hire
From knowledge of myself, then thoughts did move
Swifter than those, most switness need require.
In sleep, a chariot drawn by wing'd Desire,
I saw, where sate bright Venus, Queen of love,
And at her feet her son, still adding fire
To burning hearts, which she did hold above.
But one heart flaming more than all the rest,
The goddess held, and put it to my breast.
Dear Son, now shoot, she said, this must we win.
He her obeyed, and martyr'd my poor heart.
I waking hop'd as dreams it would depart,
Yet since, O me, a lover have I been.