To Idera, The Apology for Silence

LOng has the Store-house of my heart
Been laying Fewel in;
Here and there Cupid's left a Dart,
The fire for Matches to begin.

But my Combustibles, as yet
Have not their Caverns broke:
And whilst they can no passage get,
Send only Vollies out of Smoke.

Yet by these Sparks you might have guest
What Balls of Flames do rowl
Within the Furnace of my Breast,
And ev'n consume my melting Soul.

Vesuvius hollow Entrails glow,
Red-hot with hidden Fire;
And yet they nothing upwards throw,
But keep their stock of Flames entire.

Their stock of Flames which once a year
They pour upon the fruitful Plain;
Their Forge of loads of Ashes clear,
And to their Smithy work again.

Thô Preludes yet I only shew,
Nor tell you all my mind,
Idera! trust me to be true,
And think, my Fair One! th' more's behind.