A Song Of A Young Lady To Her Ancient Lover

Ancient Person, for who I am
All the flattering youth defy,
Long be it ere thou grow old,
Aching, shaking, crazy cold;
But still continue as thou art,

Ancient Person of my heart.
On thy withered lips adn dry,
Which like baren furrows lie,
Brooding kisses I will pour,
Shall thy youthful heat restore,
Such kind show'rs in autumn fall,
And a second spring recall;
Nor from thee will ever part,
Ancient Person of my heart.

Thy nobler parts, which but to name,
In our sex world be counted shame,
By age's frozen graps posset,
From their ice shall be relesed,
And, soothed by my reving hand,
In former warmth and vigour stand.

All a lover's wish can reach,
For thy joy my love shall teach;
And for the plesure shall improve.

All the art can add to love.
Yes still i love thee without art,
Ancient Person of my heart.

~ JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER ~