The untitled poem below was written by an Anonymous poet in the Eighteenth Century. I think it should be entitled:
Seduction At Its finest
I gently touch her hand: she gave
A look that did my soul enslave;
I pressed her rebel lips in vain:
They rose up to be pressed again.
This happy, I no father meant,
Than to be pleased and innocent.
On her soft breasts my hand I laid,
And a quick, light impression made;
They with a kindly warmth did glow,
And swelled, and seemed to overflow.
Yet, trust me, I no father meant,
Than to be please and innocent.
On her eyes my eyes did stay:
O'er her smooth limbs my hands did stray;
Each sense was ravished with delight,
And my soul stood prepared for flight.
Blame me not if at last I meant
More to be pleased then innocent.
Note from the blogger: Such seduction I have known! I wish the same to you.
2 comments:
Okay, that's it. I'm calling my husband right now and telling him I'm going to Europe where romance and seduction abounds.
On second thought, nevermind...I'd have to take all the pets with me 'cause nobody feeds them but me.
~Amy
If you like this milieu you'll enjoy "Secrets of the Victorian Palor" I'll send you some quotes. The Elizabethans weren't so bad either! CATHY
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