XLV: While Septimius in his arms his Acme

While Septimius in his arms his Acme
Fondled closely, 'My own,' said he, 'my Acme,

If I love not as unto death, nor hold me
Ever faithfully well-prepar'd to largest
Strain of fiery wooer yet to love thee,

Then in Libya, then may I alone in
Burning India face a sulky lion.'

Scarce he ended, upon the right did eager
Love sneeze amity; 'twas before to leftward.

Acme quietly back her head reclining
Towards her boy, with a rosy mouth delightful
Kissed his passionate eyes elately swimming,

Then 'Septimius, O my life' she murmur'd,
'So may he that is in this hour ascendant

Rule us ever, as in me burns a greater
Fire, a fiercer, in every vein triumphing.'

Scarce she ended, upon the right did eager
Love sneeze amity; 'twas before to leftward.

So, that augury joyous each possessing,
Loves, is lov'd with an even emulation.

Poor Septimius, all to please his Acme,
Recks not Syria, recks not any Britain.

In Septimius only faithful Acme
Makes her softnesses, holds her happy pleasures.

When did mortal on any so rejoicing
Look, on union hallow'd as divinely?