Platonick Love

How with Amasia could I wish to live;
The dearest blessing that the Gods could give.
What Heav'n of Joys, what Raptures would be mine,
Were you my darling, and were I but thine!
What vast delight your Passion would disclose,
He, who with transport sees it, only knows.
How sweet's the Balm which from your Lips distills,
The ravish'd Man, who gets the blessing, feels.
Whose Love's return'd, who hears your tender Sighs,
And sees kind looks from your relenting Eyes.
Who now no more must languish all in vain,
But makes his pleasure what was once his pain.
Receives vast bliss for his orerated Toils,
Views all his Heav'n Serene, and drest in smiles.
Secures you gently in his longing Arms,
And is all Joys, as you are all o'er Charms.
Presses your hand, and slowly steals a Kiss,
To shew consent, you softly too press his.
He hears ten thousand moving Words from you,
You think, Amasia, his Words moving too.
With oft repeated transports, you express,
Great as his Passion is, yours is not less.
Such tender things you speak, so much they move,
His Soul lives yours, and ev'ry pulse beats Love.
In vast Elyziums of delight he feeds,
No other bliss, no other Heav'n he needs.
He feels your fragrant Breath, surveys your Air,
Views all the Charms of his transporting fair.
Beholds the taking Beauties of your Face,
And struggles inwards to a near Embrace.
Rais'd by peculiar glories which surprize,
With softest glances from your kinder Eyes.
Such as you ne'er to any Mortal show,
But him alone who is belov'd by you.
Still new Delights, new Pleasures always Crown
That Happy Man, whom you could call your own.
What Heav'nly Joys, what vast, what Sacred bliss,
Could be exprest, or thought of, more than this!
That is the point, where circling Pleasures move,
When Happy Lovers have returns of Love.
Such Sweets can scarcely be by Death destroy'd,
Where, not the Body, but the Soul's enjoy'd.
Such blest delight I was not born to feel,
For […] too truly, Love too well.
Yet, when from hence, to darker Groves I go,
And view the Shades, and Fragrant Bow'rs below.
When griefs no more, but lasting Joys appear,
There in some Grotto shall I sind my Fair.
Freed from those pangs which long have rack'd my Breast,
None shall be there more Happy, none more blest.
Since here my Passion was all o'er Divine,
My Lov'd Amasia will be only mine.