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Ancient
Person, for whom I
All the flattering youth defy,
Long be it e'er thou grow old,
Aching, shaking, crazy
cold;
But still continue as thou art,
Ancient
Person of my heart.
On thy withered lips and dry,
Which like barren furrows lie,
Brooding kisses I will
pour,
Shall thy youthful heart 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 would be counted shame,
By ages frozen grasp
possest,
From their ice shall be released,
And,
soothed by my reviving hand,
In former warmth and
vigour stand.
All a lover's wish can reach,
For
thy joy my love shall teach;
And for thy pleasure
shall improve
All that art can add to love.
Yet
still I love thee without art,
Ancient Person of my
heart.
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