Wine, No. 34

Rudely blows the winter blast, Withered leaves are falling fast, Cold hath hushed the birds at last. While the heavens were warm and glowing, Nature's offspring loved in May; But man's heart no debt is owing To such change of month or day As the dumb brute-beasts obey. Oh, the joys of this possessing! How unspeakable the blessing That my Flora yields to-day!

Labour long I did not rue, Ere I won my wages due, And the prize I played for drew. Flora with her brows of laughter, Gazing on me, breathing bliss, Draws my yearning spirit after, Sucks my soul forth in a kiss: Where's the pastime matched with this? Oh, the joys of this possessing! How unspeakable the blessing Of my Flora's loveliness!

Truly mine is no harsh doom, While in this secluded room Venus lights for me the gloom! Flora faultless as a blossom Bares her smooth limbs for mine eyes; Softly shines her virgin bosom, And the breasts that gently rise Like the hills of Paradise. Oh, the joys of this possessing! How unspeakable the blessing When my Flora is the prize!

From her tender breasts decline, In a gradual curving line, Flanks like swansdown white and fine. On her skin the touch discerneth Naught of rough; 'tis soft as snow: 'Neath the waist her belly turneth Unto fulness, where below In Love's garden lilies blow. Oh, the joys of this possessing! How unspeakable the blessing! Sweetest sweets from Flora flow!

Ah! should Jove but find my fair, He would fall in love, I swear, And to his old tricks repair: In a cloud of gold descending As on Danae's brazen tower, Or the sturdy bull's back bending, Or would veil his godhood's power In a swan's form for one hour. Oh, the joys of this possessing! How unspeakable the blessing! How divine my Flora's flower!